Facets of Reason
by Unres
Summary: Every decision has a consequence, and behind every decision is a reason. Only through her steadfast beliefs can Arya make choices that impact not only her life, but the world around her. A book four and beyond narrative seen through Arya's eyes.
1. Ethos

I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the scenes I've borrowed from the books. All credit goes to Christopher Paolini.

Premise: Every decision has a consequence, and behind every decision is a reason. Only through her steadfast beliefs can Arya make choices that impact not only her life, but the world around her. A book four and beyond narrative seen through Arya's eyes.

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><p><strong>Ethos<strong>

"Focus, Eragon. Frustration won't serve you in battle," Arya admonished. She knew her words only further frustrated the Rider, but his survival was far more important than his displeasure.

The elves encompassing the field were watching as per Arya's request, a fact unbeknownst to Eragon. She was acutely aware of the discomfort they provided Eragon, but a warrior had to adapt to environments of all natures. Coddling the Rider during training would only get him killed when the danger was real.

Arya closed the distance between the two quickly, sensing that Eragon was hesitant to initiate the first strike. She swung her sword lithely at his head, anticipating him to duck and strike at her ribs.

True to form, Arya's blade whistled through empty air as Eragon avoided her swipe. Quickly, she sidestepped to her right and Brisingr narrowly missed her ribcage. Arya exploited the opening and throttled Eragon's backside in one fluid motion.

"Again!" She exclaimed as Eragon picked himself up and stomped his way to the edge of the field. Arya saw that the Rider was nearing his breaking point, for better or for worse. It was only a matter of time before he snapped and Arya would see what Eragon was capable of. Only under great pressure would the true potential of a warrior would become apparent.

They faced each other, attempting to decipher the other's movement. Playing to Eragon's cautious style, Arya bounded across the field, battering him with a series of vicious, controlled strikes. None managed to reach Eragon, as expected; but sooner or later, his defense would crack.

Sensing an abrupt change in her opponent's movements, Arya predicted that Eragon would attempt a haphazard trick similar to the ones previously used. But as his arm rose in the air, a thunderous consciousness halted the battle mid-attack.

_Enough_, Glaedr rumbled.

Arya stiffened in surprise as the ancient dragon awakened from his mourning. Across from her, Eragon lost his balance and missed a step before composing himself.

_Glaedr-elda! _She exclaimed, her voice mixing with the voices of the assembled group.

Arya glanced towards Eragon, trading an excited look with him briefly. Listening as Glaedr admonished Eragon for neglecting to train his mind, she waited curiously for Eragon's response. To think logically and set aside anger was the next step he had to take; for those who were calm in battle, won the battle.

A small bout of guilt crept into her consciousness as Eragon vented his frustration at his incompetence. Trained as she was in diplomatic skills, Arya quickly dismissed the notion. If she allowed Eragon to become complacent, then defeat would be swift and relentless.

Still, even _she_ could not entirely deny her vulnerable side, so Arya said, _Ebrithil, he is right. Eragon is not at the level he needs to be. To prepare for what lies before us, he has to attain mastery._

_Arya…Blӧdhgarm…Yaela…you know the mind is more important to train. Why have none of you taken it upon yourselves to continue Eragon's instruction in the area? _Glaedr admonished, causing her to affix her eyes to the ground in humiliation.

Silence lingered in the air until Blӧdhgarm spoke up, insinuating the task to train Eragon was Glaedr's alone. Unperturbed by his aggressive tone, Arya immediately realized exactly what Blӧdhgarm was attempting to do. It was a clever ploy undoubtedly, though one with a dangerous risk. Should Glaedr lose control, he could crush all of the elves' minds easily.

Without missing a beat, Saphira joined the conversation, acting as the respectful counterpart to Blӧdhgarm's outburst. Offering him a chance to fly again, she managed to successfully temper Glaedr's outrage, directing its intensity towards Eragon's training.

Arya let loose the breath she had been holding when Glaedr agreed to help Eragon attain mastery over his swordsmanship. As smoothly as the ruse Blӧdhgarm and Saphira participated in worked, the wrath of the golden dragon would have been disastrous to face had he lost his temper.

She waited, sword in hand, as Glaedr privately mentored Eragon. Arya knew what Glaedr was teaching him, so she was expecting a different approach to the battle than before. She readied her weapon as Eragon studied her attentively.

Shuffling to her side, Eragon began the fight similar to how several others started. A tactic to obscure his true intentions Arya figured. A nearly imperceptible hitch in his step enabled her to make the first move, lunging towards Eragon with unmatched ferocity.

They clashed swords, exchanging blows with neither giving any ground. Eragon had anticipated a chop to the head and stabbed quickly towards her breast. It was a well-placed strike; but far too quick, for Arya was unable to move her sword out of the way and Brisingr was deflected away from her body innocuously. Taking advantage of the opening, Arya swung at his head, her sword connecting with his helmet.

Frustration once again colored Eragon's countenance before it cooled into a blank façade. He would be hard pressed to defeat her, Arya knew, in his angry state. The more he failed, the more aggressive Eragon became; a weakness which would be his undoing time and time again.

She started to close the gap between them once again, but stopped short as Eragon shuffled to his right. A strategy to lure her into the sun Arya guessed. A solid plan, but she would not fall for the obvious bait. With the added presence of Glaedr observing the duel, she felt obligated to maintain her image by fighting to her fullest ability.

Arya growled softly, watching carefully for a lapse in concentration. She had little faith in the cheap tactic, but she wished to observe how much Eragon had grown. Compared to an average elf's lifespan, the time passed since Eragon's immature confession had been short. Arya knew he had changed, that much was obvious; but she did not know to what extent and curiosity took a hold of her.

As she expected, Eragon was not affected by her impulsive ploy, so Arya crossed the remaining distance and utilized long, powerful strokes that kept the Rider off-balance. Slowly, her opponent yielded as her blows drove him back. With each successive attack, Arya felt Eragon's defense soften.

Confident in her position in the fierce battle, Arya unleashed a vicious downward slice at the Rider's head, meaning to end the duel right there. To her astonishment, Eragon lithely sidestepped her sword; the sun shining directly into her eyes as she followed his movements. Momentarily stunned, Arya was helpless as Eragon stabbed her in the ribs, claiming the victory.

Her vision flashed red as Arya held her side gingerly. She experienced an odd mixture of anger and pride as she stood there defeated. She shot Eragon a congratulatory look to acknowledge his complete victory, but the pain morphed the expression into an indecipherable message.

They continued to fight after that brief interlude; but with the bitter taste of defeat, Arya was careful to not underestimate Eragon's abilities again. And Eragon fought fiercely, revitalized with the success he had tasted. Evenly matched, the two danced with their blades for what seemed like hours until their swings were half-hearted and their shoulders drooped.

The pair eventually ended up with the hilts of their swords locked, their faces inches apart. Arya raised her eyes to meet his in an intimate deadlock and Eragon whispered intensely, "I…see…you."

That was the confirmation Arya had been searching for all along and an indescribable feeling swept through her before she suppressed the emotion.

Hours later, the elf and Rider sat closely in Eragon's tent, relaxing after an intense bout of mental training. They talked of inconsequential tidbits, things a passerby would have dismissed as mindless banter. But to Arya, these conversations were a calming force that she could only experience with Eragon. It was a special form of friendship that bonded them, and Arya was loath to relinquish it.

"What will you do if we win the war?" Eragon asked her suddenly. Night had fallen and the question startled her.

"I will continue to serve my mother as her ambassador," She said slowly. It was a topic Arya had never given much thought. Her life was the war and it was all she knew. "There will still be much that needs doing if we manage to topple Galbatorix, much that needs putting right, and I would be a part of it."

Eragon replied noncommittally; an observation Arya noted, but did not comment on. Her life was her own and she could not imagine doing anything but serving her people.

Arya stood up to leave, grateful for the hours they had spent amicably. There was an undeniable tension permeating the air, one which threatened the very nature of the war. Before she opened the flaps to the tent, Eragon acted on a whim and whispered hoarsely, "Wait."

The word came as hesitant and hopeful, but not forceful. She could hear the unsaid question burning beneath the surface and for a split-second, Arya considered answering it. But there was a war raging and nothing good could come of the response. So she merely said, "Good night, Eragon," before exposing herself to the cold air outside.

* * *

><p>Arya murmured a silent spell designed to locate dead-ends. While she searched the various passage-ways that twisted beneath Dras-Leona, the rest of the expedition studiously examined the peculiar runes covering the ceiling. Angela, Wyrden and Eragon all stared at the ancient words in an attempt to translate them. While Arya knew she would regret missing the opportunity to study the runes, surviving the mission was more important to their cause.<p>

Her spell detected a dead-end in the first passage, so she moved on, in search of the path that would lead them out of the damp caverns. Each successive corridor also led to a dead-end and frustration began to creep its way into the elf's thoughts.

Upon finishing the fifth archway, Arya ignored the opening Eragon stood in front of and instead ventured towards the seventh and final corridor. Before she could cast her location spell, a hair-raising yowl filled the caverns. "Solembum!" Angela shouted, whirling towards the sound's source.

Arya drew her sword, scanning the immediate area for danger. Something or someone was in the underground maze with them, threatening the very nature of their mission. "This way," Arya said, starting towards the corridor she had been about examine.

"No! We have to help him," The herbalist said stubbornly. It was an irrational thought, for her obstinacy put the entire war in jeopardy.

Arya ground her teeth in frustration, "If Murtagh learns we're here, we'll—"

Before she could finish the sentence, trapdoors sprang open throughout the various passages. Black-clothed men swarmed out of the entrances, advancing towards the group with their weapons bared.

Adrenaline rushed through Arya's veins as she raised her sword to welcome the oncoming enemies. The battle was fierce as steel clashed against steel and she was barely able to hear Eragon shout that the enemy could not feel pain. Armed this knowledge, the elf became a deadly whirlwind, chopping heads and stabbing hearts in every direction.

Despite her best efforts, the mass numbers of the numbed men began to overwhelm Arya. A sword would dart around her blade every now and then, only to be stopped in its tracks by her wards.

Behind her, Eragon shouted something and a gust of wind blew the enemies in front of him backwards. But the men pressed onwards, engaging the group relentlessly. Scanning the area around her, Arya spotted the archway that she had not yet examined and shouted, "This way!"

The three other warriors followed her through the unknown arch. They ran with a sense of urgency as the black-garbed men pursued them in darkness. Suddenly, Angela let out a cry followed by a solid thud. Looking back, Arya saw that the herbalist had been dragged into a side corridor that was now shut-off.

Eragon's sword caught on fire as he tried to pry open the secret door. In an attempt to calm her friend, Arya placed her hand on his shoulder and muttered a spell to open the door. As expected, the door was impervious to magic and the stone remained motionless.

By now, their pursuers had caught up to them and the pair was forced to fight them off in the narrow corridor. Several enemies fell quickly as the duo cut a path through them, but there was always a new opponent to replace the one just felled.

Wyrden called to them having found a way out. "Stenr slauta!" Arya said; buying them time as the walls exploded around the men. Following Wyrden's lead, she ran headlong for the opening at the end of the corridor.

Mere feet from the illuminated opening, a sickening crack filled the air as spikes erupted from the floor and ceiling, snaring Wyrden between their grip. Arya watched in horror as the unfortunate elf was suspended between the spikes, saved only by his wards.

In a brilliant flash of light, she saw Wyrden's wards falter and the elf screamed in agony as the spikes impaled his body. In a rare moment of shock, Arya listened to Wyrden's dying moans, helpless.

Arya allowed herself a moment to absorb the calamity, then collected her wits and analyzed the situation. In a shaky voice, she said, "Eragon, cut us a path with Brisingr." Her sword would be stopped by the magic protecting the spikes, but Brisingr would be able to cut a path through easily.

Stepping through the jagged spikes that remained on the floor and ceiling, Arya carefully avoided the sharp edges as Eragon helped her navigate. Once she made it to the other end, the pair rushed through the purplish light emitting from the opening.

Her momentum was so great as Arya entered the new room that she was barely able to see her surroundings before arriving at the edge of a platform. Unable to see anything in the dark mists below, her only option was to jump and attempt to reach the black altar on the far-side of the room. As she flew through the air, Arya only hoped that she had not made the wrong decision to come to this accursed place.

The first thing she noticed as she opened her eyes was the uncomfortably large ball of cloth stuffed into her mouth. The next was the fact that she was hanging on a stone wall, held vertical by metal cuffs. Arya shook her head, to try and clear the pounding between her eyes, but all the motion did was increase the pain.

Turning her head, Arya saw Eragon hanging limply next to her, still unconscious. She tried calling his name, but to no avail. The gag in her mouth effectively rendered her mute. Worried about his condition, Arya rattled the chains binding her limbs in an effort to gather his attention. But all that resulted was scrapped skin and thin trickles of blood rolling down her wrists.

Squeezing her thumb close to her hand, Arya attempted to squeeze her hand through the loop of the cuff. Pain shot through her arm as more skin was scraped off, exposing raw flesh beneath it.

Determined to escape the shackles binding her, the elf mentally voiced a spell, aimed at the shackles holding her. To her immense surprise, all of the energy poured into the spell backfired and raced through her body in hot rivulets of pain. The effect broke her concentration, ending the spell immediately.

Helpless, all Arya could do was wait until Eragon awoke. To her relief, her friend regained consciousness a few minutes later. His initial reaction much like hers: shock, confusion, and desperation.

At what she could only guess was a mental spell, Eragon's body stiffened in pain and muffled noises emanated from the cloth in his mouth. Arya looked at him, concerned; the pain must have been similar to that of his past seizures.

The immediate future was bleak; Wyrden was dead, Angela and Solembum likely as well, and the last free Rider was captured. Her mind raced, thinking of every possible plan of escape. Arya was determined to ensure that Eragon did not suffer the same fate as their comrades. Whether her reasons were derived from duty or feelings, Arya did not know.

An eternity passed before bells sounded in the halls beyond the chamber, the High Priest and his novitiates entering the room. Arya listened in horror as the High Priest spoke of resurrecting their Old Gods, the Ra'zac, with _their_ flesh. "And Murtagh knows nothing of your presence here. Today is the day of your doom, Eragon _Shadeslayer_," The High Priest cackled, a sickening, wretched sound.

Arya tasted bile in the back of her mouth as she watched the novitiates place two large eggs on the floor in front of the captives. "As Tosk wrote, so shall it be," The congregated priests exclaimed before exiting the chamber.

Arya met Eragon's eyes, conveying a mutual sense of despair. In front of them, the eggs started the crack at the top and a scraping sound arose in the altar room. Horror engulfing her, Arya thrashed around, blood dripping down her arms.

Next to her, Arya could see Eragon contemplating the cuffs binding his hands. She knew what he was about to do; so to protect Eragon from the pain, Arya wrenched her right hand through the cuff, breaking her thumb and tearing the skin. Hot, fiery agony ripped through her arm and she clenched her teeth, nearly biting through the cloth.

Woozy from the ordeal, Arya sagged in her chains, allowing her body to relax before repeating the process. Dark spots colored her vision as she blacked out for a few seconds. As she prepared to break her left thumb, the door suddenly opened and a young novitiate walked through.

A chisel in hand, the novitiate set to work on the chains holding her as Eragon frantically motioned towards her. Arya nearly sighed as the inexperienced man tried unsuccessfully to cut through several different links. If this was all the help they were going to receive, she would have to break her left hand as well.

"There's nothing else I can do," The novitiate mourned, his skin becoming deathly pale. "It's for the best." He approached Eragon, a dagger in hand, ready to give the Rider a merciful death.

Arya started shaking in her chains violently, attempting to free herself and stop the novitiate. The nervous man drew back the knife and Arya shouted incoherent words at him before he collapsed on the ground unconscious.

In the opposing tunnel emerged Angela and Solembum, and never before had Arya been so relieved to see them.

* * *

><p>Arya produced a wooden flask from the depths of her pocket and took a large gulp of its contents. She stood in front of Eragon's tent, waiting for him to arrive. It had been a trying day, for she had witnessed the Wyrden's death right in front of her eyes. It was a blunt reminder of her mortality and that frightened her.<p>

She saw Eragon approaching in the far distance; and he had obviously spotted her, for he quickened his pace. Before she was able to greet her friend, a messenger ran up to them and hailed, "Shadeslayer! Lady Nasuada would like you to come to her tent an hour before dawn tomorrow morning, in order to confer with her. What shall I tell her, Lady Arya?"

"You may tell her I will be there when she wishes," She replied, coolly nodding her head.

"It's somewhat confusing, now that we've both killed a Shade," Eragon joked.

His small jest was a welcome reprieve from the dreary thoughts that had plagued her. She responded lightly, enjoying the teasing tone of the conversation. Arya rarely teased others, especially during such crucial times; but it was easy to be herself around Eragon, and the tipsiness from the faelnirv did not hurt either.

"Would you like to go in?" Eragon asked.

"I would." She entered the tent, its darkness no hindrance to their enhanced sight. Nevertheless, Eragon proceeded to light a lantern nearby as per social etiquette. Withdrawing the bottle of faelnirv from her pocket, Arya said, "I found this among Wyrden's belongings, and I thought we might enjoy it together."

Her friend accepted the bottle and looked apprehensively at the wooden container. Arya laughed, "Go on, you'll like it." It had been so long since she last allowed herself to drink; the freedom it granted was a welcome change.

Arya took a large quaff of the faelnirv when Eragon handed her the flask. Coming to Eragon's tent was a good decision; drinking alone would only serve to make her miserable. It was at times like these that Arya was truly grateful they shared a strong friendship.

Several more gulps later, the wooden bottle was empty and Arya watched amusedly as Eragon tried to fit the stopper into the bottle. In his inebriated state, he had lost a good amount of his coordination and dexterity.

Eragon lifted her right hand, turning it to examine the injury she was unable to heal in Helgrind. "Blӧdhgarm healed you?" He asked upon seeing no residual blemishes on her skin.

"There is still a patch of skin by the base of my thumb where I have no feeling." Arya guided his hand to the correct spot as he lightly touched the area. "He tried a half-dozen spells, but the nerves refuse to rejoin." She stared at her hand wistfully, "I can still wield a sword and I can still draw a bow. That is all that matters."

Her friend looked slightly abashed, likely feeling responsible for the injury she sustained. He tried to apologize; but Arya stopped Eragon mid-sentence, "Do not feel bad because of it. By the hurts we accumulate, we measure both our follies and our accomplishments."

Hours later, the effects of the faelnirv remained strong and Arya noticed Eragon glancing about nervously. "What is it?" She asked.

"I'm having trouble concentrating," He replied, "I can feel my blood pulsating throughout my body and everything sounds very loud." All in all, Eragon seemed rather distraught.

She suddenly realized what ailed Eragon and Arya laughed. "That is how it should be. The sensations will wear off by dawn. Until then, relax and allow yourself to enjoy them." His naivety was refreshing in this dark time.

At some time in the cool night, music wafted through the encampment. The melody was so furious and complex that Arya thought it fit her mood perfectly. Under the growing influence of the faelnirv, Arya's body acted out of its own accord. She started moving to the music, slowly at first. As she became more accustomed to the rhythm, Arya sped up, matching the quick tempo . The elf did not know why she danced, only that it felt natural and comfortable with Eragon nearby.

Without warning, a dragon roared in the distance, and Arya was brought back to reality. Judging by Eragon's look of horror, she assumed that Saphira was not the one they heard. Cursing her stupidity to let her guard down, Arya raced towards the tent flap, followed by the stumbling Rider.

A flurry of motion greeted them as they stepped outside; the Varden was fending off the intruders while people ran to and fro in complete disarray. Eragon stepped forward to mount Saphira, but first Arya had to right her mistake in allowing him to drink. "Wait," She said, putting a hand on his arm. Muttering an incantation to restore his senses, Arya allowed the Rider to ready himself for battle.

"We need the Dauthdaert," Eragon shouted to her.

She nodded in agreement and sprinted towards her tent on the far side of the camp. Dodging friends and foes alike, Arya reached the ancient weapon quickly and turned towards the battle, not bothering to don her armor. In the heat of battle, there was no time to think of her safety

"Eragon!" She shouted as she sighted him running amongst the tents. When they were a few feet apart, Arya offered him the Dauthdaert.

"Keep it!" He responded as Orik caught up to them. Arya nodded, it would be easier if there were two people able to wound Thorn.

"Leave them, we have to help Saphira," She said in response to Orik's suggestion to attack a clump of enemy soldiers.

As they rushed towards where Saphira and Thorn fought, Orik fell behind as Arya knew he would. Nobody could keep up with the elves. Eragon halted as they passed Elva's tent, forcing her to stop as well. Looking at the Rider, Arya wondered what was going through his head. "Elva would be faster," He said, answering her question.

She knew Eragon was opposed to kill another dragon, even if it was Thorn. But this was war and they did not have the luxury of trial and error. "We have the Dauthdaert—"

"Too dangerous. Too difficult."

Arya paused for a split-second, weighing the options. She knew killing Thorn would be the best choice; but they could not afford to disagree on the matter, so the elf nodded her head in agreement.

But before they could make a move towards Elva, Murtagh appeared with Nasuada in tow. It was a nightmare, the Varden was under siege and their leader held hostage. Before Arya or Eragon could react, Thorn swooped down and grabbed Murtagh and his prisoner.

Knowing time was short and the war at stake, Arya did the only thing she knew and gave pursuit. The Dauthdaert in hand, Arya sprinted forward and leaped off of a pile of barrels, propelling herself high into the air. Far above the ground, Arya managed to catch Thorn's tail as he rose above the camp.

Unaware of her surroundings, Arya climbed up the dragon's tail, using the spikes as handholds. Drawing her left hand back, she plunged the ancient spear into Thorn's leg, resulting in a bloody roar.

Thorn dove towards the ground in a deadly spiral, dislodging both Arya and the Dauthdaert. As she fell through the air, the elf shouted a spell halting her freefall. Hovering in the air, Arya noticed Saphira approaching from one side. Turning, she faced Thorn as he opened his mouth to release a torrent of fire.

Though her wards protected her from the malicious heat, Arya could not help but be blinded by the blazing inferno. Once her vision cleared, the only thing she could see was Thorn's tail whipping towards her before pain erupted through her body and all went black.

Her vision blurred as she opened her eyes to Eragon's worried face. "Thorn…What of Thorn?" She spluttered, barely able to get the words out of her throat. But his reply, to her dismay, was negative.

"And…Nasuada? Did you rescue her?" Arya asked, hoping he had managed to rescue Nasuada at the very least. Even if Thorn had escaped, there was still a possibility that she was rescued.

Eragon shook his head and Arya closed her eyes in sorrow. Death would be more merciful than Galbatorix.

When Eragon stood to summon Blӧdhgarm, she said, "There's no need, I'm only bruised, not broken." Grasping Eragon's shoulder for support, Arya pulled herself to her feet carefully, trying to hide the full extent of her injuries. The Varden had much larger worries than her health right now; such as the future of the Varden.

* * *

><p>Arya walked with her mother and Blӧdhgarm en route to the secret meeting Eragon had arranged. She wore her armor for they were camped near Urû'baen and danger could close in at any moment. Her mother wore armor as well, though whereas Queen Islanzadí's was gold and jeweled; Arya's was steel and plain.<p>

Upon arriving at the designated location, Eragon was nowhere to be seen, but a shadowy impression resembling Saphira rested in the soft grass. "Show yourself, Eragon Shadeslayer," Her mother commanded. In front of them appeared the dragon and Rider, looking visibly exhausted from their journey.

The queen locked eyes with Eragon, staring at him for a moment. She was examining his changes, or perhaps she was testing him; it was difficult to tell, even for those closest to the queen. "You have improved, Shadeslayer," Queen Islanzadí noted approvingly.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Eragon replied graciously, "Such a compliment means much from one so wise and fair as you."

The queen laughed, amused by something that Arya did not perceive. "You did not tell me he had become so well spoken, Arya!"

She smiled, though they spoke casually, compliments from the queen were always highly valued. Arya was proud of how far Eragon had come in such a long time. "He is still learning," She said modestly. The elf turned to Eragon, "It is good to see you safely returned."

As the contingent of men and women finally assembled, Eragon revealed the secret he had been hiding for several months, the Eldunarí. Arya looked at him questioningly, for the Eldunarí were not a secret to be told lightly. The Rider glanced back at her reassuringly, "Open your minds," He said.

When Arya did as he said, her mind was filled with the voices of many, many Eldunarí. It was an incredible sensation as hundreds of thoughts filled her head. She knelt on the bed of grass in awe, beholding the advantage the Varden sorely needed to fight Galbatorix.

Before, the thought of defeating the king had been a hopeful glimmer in the future; but now, it was rapidly becoming a reality. A film of tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, a testament to her newfound hope. Eragon had truly surpassed all of her expectations.

Later, when their discussion turned towards developing a strategy to attack Urû'baen, it was settled by Eragon himself that he, along with a group of elven warriors and Elva, would infiltrate the castle. "Unless either you or Saphira object, I will accompany you tomorrow." It was a simple decision for Arya; if Eragon intended to place himself in immediate danger for the good of the war, then so would she.

Eragon agreed unflinchingly to her request, but Queen Islanzadí raised her own objections. "It would be selfish to insist upon going when there are others better suited of the task who are willing and close at hand."

Arya was unable to discern whether her mother's objections were founded logically or emotionally, but Eragon saved her the trouble of defending herself by replying, "And there is no one, other than Saphira, I would rather have by my side."

She glanced at him in appreciation, Eragon's support meant more to her than he knew. But her mother questioned his reasons, gently accusing him of thinking with his heart. Before Queen Islanzadí could redirect her argument, Arya said, "It is you who are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment. You well know that I swore myself in service to our people long ago. Even if I wanted to, I would not turn away from this. I would sooner die."

Her reasons for accompanying Eragon were simple: it was her duty to watch over the still young Rider and to play her part in Galbatorix's demise. "I cannot allow Eragon and Saphira to go without me any more than you can allow your army to march into battle without you at its head. Those of our family do not turn away from what must be done; do not ask me to shame myself," Arya insisted, beseeching her mother to understand her motivation.

Placing her hand upon her mother's face, Arya continued in the unbreakable Ancient Language, "_I shall not die." _So strong was her conviction that it was spoken in the unbreakable language, for it was what she truly believed.

Stricken by her miniature tirade, her mother relented and said, "Then go, and take no more risks than you must."

Much later, once everybody else had departed, Arya voiced the concerns that formulated while she had listened to Eragon. "Did something else happen to you while you were gone, something that you didn't want to speak of in front of Orrin or Jӧrmundur…or my mother?"

"Why do you ask?"

Arya deliberated for a moment, attempting to summarize her feelings, "Because…you both seem to have changed. Is it the Eldunarí?"

Eragon seemed to converse briefly with Saphira before replying to her query. "We learned our true names and the Eldunarí shared many of their memories with us. I can't say we understand them all, but they make things seem…different."

"I see," Arya said quietly. It surprised her that the pair had discovered their true names, for they could burden one's soul with their heavy implications. "Do you think the change is for the better?"

"I do," Eragon said confidently, "Change itself is neither good nor bad, but knowledge is always useful."

It was an honest answer, and an eloquent one. He had learned to think and analyze instead of merely acting on whim. She was again reminded of the progress Eragon and Saphira had made as individuals.

There was a short hiatus in the conversation as Eragon spoke mentally to Saphira. When he looked at her again, Eragon said, "Would you like to hear my true name? I would like to share it with you."

His offer stunned her. To give one's true name to another required complete and utter trust. It was not a secret to be handed out lightly. "No!" Arya said emphatically, "You shouldn't tell it to me or anyone else. You should only give your true name to…" She searched her mind for the correct phrase, "To one whom you trust above all others."

"I trust you," Eragon said. It was a simple answer, but it held complex ramifications behind it.

"When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands," Arya said, trying to impress upon him, the importance of keeping his true name secret.

"I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you."

Emotions overwhelmed Arya, inducing involuntarily shivers. She understood why Eragon wished to impart upon her his true name; tomorrow, they would be embarking on a mission where failure was very real and death was a virtual guarantee. But in good conscience, Arya could not accept the offering, for a true name was to be given when one has complete trust in another. She did not want to accept the gift under the guise impending doom.

Trying to impart her feelings on the subject into words, Arya said, "No one has ever offered me such a gift before…I'm honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline." She paused for a moment, allowing Eragon to absorb each and every word. "It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril." Arya searched his face for a reaction, hoping she did not offend him.

Eragon respected her wishes and dropped the subject as she had hoped. A moment passed, "Do you know what your true name is?" He asked.

"Of course," Arya replied. Nearly every elf knew their true name.

"When…how did you learn your true name?" Eragon asked again, timidly.

Arya deliberated again. Telling the story of finding one's true name was nearly as personal as sharing the actual name. It had been so long since she had opened up to anybody and Arya had never told another soul the story. But Eragon was her only true friend, and their friendship had evolved into something more complex and intricate. She trusted him more than anyone else, more than she had ever expected to again.

"A number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden," Arya started, "My other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, and one day, I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim." She tried to express the sensations she had experienced into words. "In the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. There, I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am," Arya finished.

Though Arya had enjoyed the conversation, it was late and preparations had to be made for the following day. "I should go. There is much yet to be done."

Eragon nodded in agreement, he undoubtedly had several things to attend to before infiltrating the castle. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."

She turned and walked in the direction of the camp. After a few steps, a thought occurred to Arya. She had never told Eragon how proud she was of who he was and what he did. Arya stopped and turned, "I'm glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I'm proud to have fought alongside you." Her voice shook uncharacteristically. "You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that."

Arya resumed her walk, her heart now at ease. If there was one good thing brought about by this war, it was that she had chanced to befriend Eragon.

* * *

><p>For hours it seemed, Eragon and Murtagh dueled in the depths of Urû'baen. Back and forth, the two fought, so evenly matched that neither was able to gain a significant advantage over the other. For Arya, it was nearly unbearable to watch Eragon while she remained bound by magical shackles.<p>

At this late stage in the deathly dance, Eragon was sure to be losing energy rapidly. Arya knew that if the battle lasted much longer, they would have no chance to defeat Galbatorix. As it was, the chances of fighting the king as equals were minimal.

Her mind loosely connected to Eragon's, Arya perceived that he too sensed time was dwindling. As a result of the dire situation, the Rider conceived a plan to end the duel quickly and painfully. Saphira, as expected, objected heavily to Eragon masochistic idea.

Arya knew well the decision that Eragon contemplated. Many times she too had suffered the consequences for completing her duty. To sacrifice oneself for the greater good was an onerous resolution, one that required utter confidence to succeed. _Choose wisely, _Arya warned.

Grimly, Arya watched as Eragon willingly accepted a blow to his ribs in order to trap Murtagh's sword. In a lethal counter-attack, Eragon delivered a much more devastating strike to Murtagh's abdomen, a sure end to the ghastly duel. The elf sighed in relief as Eragon emerged relatively intact; their hopes still burned, no matter how dimly.

Suddenly, Murtagh uttered the Word, freeing the room from the magic ensconcing them, and Arya joined the mental assault upon Galbatorix's mind. It was a futile endeavor, but she hoped the combined strength of Eragon, the dragons, and herself would be a match for Galbatorix.

As a result of the mental siege, Galbatorix's Eldunarí reacted swiftly to their assailants. Their battering upon her mind had Arya reeling inwardly, solidifying her thoughts into an impenetrable iron wall. Rooted in place as she was, Arya could only stave off the relentless dragons..

It was a terrible sight indeed to see Eragon writhe in silent pain. The king had quelled the uprising and stood over Eragon, delving deep into his mind. At first, Eragon had resisted the temptation to scream. But after a short time, Eragon's silence was broken by long, hoarse cries of pain. Whatever Galbatorix was doing to him, Arya was certain it was depraved and cruel. It was agonizing to be helpless while her friend suffered so.

In the blink of an eye, Eragon's screams ceased and magic saturated the room due to some unknown spell that Eragon had invoked. "_What have you done?_" Arya heard Galbatorix roar in agony.

"Made you understand," Eragon said weakly, still recovering from the brutal onslaught.

The magic binding Arya in place disappeared and Arya instinctively started towards Shruikan with the Dauthdaert in hand. Arya looked at Eragon, internally debating whether she should check on him before joining the dueling dragons. He could have been gravely hurt when Galbatorix tortured his mind. But another opportunity such as this might not present itself again, and hesitation on her part could be the difference between victory and defeat.

So Arya turned towards Shruikan who was brawling with Saphira and Thorn. Despite their superior numbers, the black dragon's sheer size made him more than a match for the pair. Priming the spear in her hand for a single deadly strike, Arya sprinted towards the dragon.

She dodged behind a nearby pillar as a fiery inferno erupted from Shruikan's mouth. Resuming her journey after the fire abated, Arya barely noticed the flames licking the tips of her hair. With a massive leap, Arya landed on the dragon's head and impaled the spear in the center of his eye.

A ferocious roar echoed throughout the hall as Shruikan roared in agony before collapsing on the ground. The whole palace shook and pillars crumbled as the giant dragon struck the floor. Before Arya could recover from the impact, a brilliant flash of light emanated from where Eragon and Galbatorix fought. The last thing Arya felt was Eragon's protective magic encompassing her before the light exploded around them.

The castle was crumbling around them; if they did not escape soon, they would be trapped under the debris raining down. A thought struck her, "Wait! Where is the egg? And the Eldunarí? We can't leave them!"

_In the treasure room at the very center of the castle, _Murtagh informed her through his mind. A picture of the castle's layout was sent through the link. _But you'll never make it out alive._

Arya did not answer him. Turning around, she bolted for a door on the opposite side of the room. Allowing the last dragon egg and the numerous Eldunarí to be destroyed was a travesty in her eyes.

The elf heard Eragon yelling after her. But there was no time to reason with him, so she merely said, _Go, get the children to safety. Go! You haven't much time!_

Racing down the twisting tunnels, Arya mentally checked the map Murtagh had sent her, making sure she was headed down the correct path. One wrong turn and there would be no time to escape the falling fortress.

A large chunk of rock fell from the ceiling, landing right in front of her. Had Arya been moving quicker, she would have been crushed by the debris. Momentarily stunned, Arya forced herself to continue her torrid pace, despite the ever present peril.

She was thirty feet from the door to the treasure room when the elves captured earlier appeared through a side door. "Arya!" Blӧdhgarm shouted across the rumbling cacophony. "We have to get out of here."

"Not yet," She said hurriedly, time was growing short. "The treasure room is nearby with the green egg and the Eldunarí."

Blӧdhgarm nodded as he and the rest of the elves followed Arya's lead. Running to the door at the far end of the hall, Arya turned the knob, relieved when it gave way. The enchantments must have disappeared after Galbatorix was killed.

Inside the room, all of the elves were awestruck. In the center, on a gilded pedestal, lay the green egg. Lining the walls were several chests of what Arya could only guess were full of Eldunarí. Scattered haphazardly on the ground were mysterious objects exuding dark power. They were full of terrible secrets, but likely dangerous as such items commonly were.

Minds reached out to them, full of mad whispers and ravings. But having been held captive so long, the assaults on the elves' minds were weak. It had been Galbatorix's unifying power which had made them formidable.

"Hurry," Arya urged, "We need to take the chests outside. There's no time to retrieve the artifacts here." Scooping up the green egg, Arya deposited it into a nearby empty chest. Holding the casket to her chest, Arya shouted, "This way!"

She charged through the entrance to the vault, the elves close behind her. Looking back, she saw the chests floating in a caravan behind the group, held aloft by magic the elves had used. Praying Murtagh's map was accurate; Arya passed several potential exits as she turned around dizzying amount of corners.

By this time, the walls were visibly shaking and the castle threatened to topple at any second. The group of elves arrived at the end of a hallway with only one door. If this door did not lead outside, then they would surely been trapped beneath the falling stone.

Opening the door, Arya rushed through it, only to be swallowed whole by smoke and dust. When the dust settled, the ruins of Urû'baen greeted them. Houses lay in shambles and its citizens were milling about in a desperate attempt to flee. She glanced behind her and was relieved to find everybody safe and sound, including the chests full of Eldunarí. Behind them, the door they had just passed through caved inwards, blocking the entrance.

In the far distance, Arya could see Eragon and the rest of their party gathered. She smiled in disbelief; the war was over, the Eldunarí safe, and the green egg recovered. The future ahead of them was gloriously bright.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span>

I hope you all enjoyed the first multi-chapter fiction I've written since I abandoned Convergence. I had forgotten how different it is to write a longer fiction compared to a one-shot. I've been toying with the idea for this story for a long time now, probably since Inheritance debuted(and failed). And don't worry, the amount of scenes taken from the book will drastically decrease in the next two chapters.

Until next time ;).


	2. Logos

I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the scenes I've borrowed from the books. All credit goes to Christopher Paolini.

* * *

><p><strong>Logos<strong>

Though the war was over and Galbatorix dead, Arya experienced neither joy nor relief. She knew well that many died in war, for many close to her had been victims of tragedy. But never in her wildest dreams did Arya expect Queen Islanzadí, her mother, to die in the Battle of Urû'baen.

When the news first reached her, she stood there in shock, unable to fully comprehend the information. It was not until the following morning Arya realized that never again would she embrace her mother. Though the two did not see eye-to-eye often, the unconditional love that a mother and daughter shared was still present.

Walking aimlessly through the Varden's camp, Arya pondered the recent events. It had been a long time since she was free to think without distractions. Despite the tenuous relationship, Islanzadí's death affected her like nothing else before. She had seen her friends, Glenwing and Fäolin, murdered before her eyes. It had wounded her deeply, but even _that_ was nothing compared to this pain.

Focused on her intently on her thoughts, Arya did not realize where her feet were taking her until she stood in front of Eragon's tent. She debated whether seeking his company was wise. Surely he wanted to enjoy the aftermath of the war, not drown in Arya's misery. But she threw her worries to the wind and called out, "Eragon?"

Surely enough, the Rider parted the tent flaps and invited her to sit inside. Arya noticed he looked slightly nervous as he ushered her into his tent. "How are you Arya?" Eragon asked.

"Well enough," She replied curtly. Arya started regretting her decision to seek his company. The last thing she wanted was for people to pity her.

Eragon's eyebrows rose in suspicion, "You don't look it, Arya. You're paler than usual." When she stared at him blankly, he added, "Is it because of your mother?"

Arya nodded mutely. There was nothing for her to tell him. Everybody experienced death. Eragon himself had lost his uncle when he was still a boy; it seemed foolish to appear upset in front of him.

"You're not alone, Arya," Eragon said softly, "Saphira and I are here for you. As is everybody else."

"I know," She replied, still unwilling to mourn publicly. Long ago she learned to mask her emotions behind an iron wall. It was a useful ability, especially for her diplomatic responsibilities. Arya hoped her raging emotions were hidden; but knowing Eragon, he likely saw through her guise, in part at least.

The pair sat there in silence for a time, Arya thinking of the past and Eragon watching her. Finally, she said, "I've always thought that my mother would be the queen for a long time. For a few more centuries at the very least. I suppose I never thought circumstances would change so abruptly."

"I understand," Eragon said sympathetically, "I used to believe the same about Roran and Garrow. Never in my wildest fantasies was I anything more than a farmer in Carvahall." He paused, searching inwardly for a moment. "But everything changed and I learned to accept it, for the better or worse."

Arya nodded, the two were so similar in regards to the paths their lives had taken. Eragon had become a Rider and she an ambassador, both role changes coming abruptly and without warning. "When were you able to accept being a Dragon Rider?" She asked, curiously.

Eragon's eyes glazed over and assumed a nostalgic tint, "When I realized that I couldn't change anything. Nothing I did would bring Garrow back from the dead."

His voice held an unusual undertone and Arya finally understood just _how _drastically his life had changed in a few short years. It was a morbid thought that when a loved one died, never again would you hear their voice or see their smile. "I know that I can't bring Islanzadí back," Arya admitted, her cool façade diminishing ever-so slightly, "But the thought of her being gone is so foreign that I can't wrap my mind around it."

"That's normal," Eragon said quietly, "The only thing that dulls the pain is time."

Another mutual silence grew between them as they thought of those lost to the void. Only their memories of Islanzadí and Garrow remained, anchoring them in this life. She stood up to leave, "Where are you going?" Eragon asked.

"To think," Was her reply as Arya left the Rider alone in his tent. She needed to sort out her turbulent thoughts alone before she could truly overcome her grief.

Her right hand twitched involuntarily as she left the tent and Arya was uncertain whether it was her sustained injury that caused the spasm, or if it was simply her emotions.

Thinking of the legacy left behind by her mother, Arya realized that much of it was dominated by the love for her people. Queen Islanzadí had taken many risks to create a better future for the elves and Alagaësia as a whole. She had boldly supported the Varden and marched on the Empire when the time was right. She had kept Oromis and Glaedr a secret until a Rider was ready to be trained. She had fought Barth in hopes of reversing the momentum in the battle.

Though Islanzadí had never been an exceptionally good mother, she had always placed the well-being of her people first and foremost; and for that, Arya respected her. It was ironic in a way, for it was Islanzadí's aloofness that isolated Arya; which in turn, spurred her to work for the betterment of their people as well.

These thoughts sparked something within her, a desire to continue her mother's legacy. Islanzadí had lived her life by serving the elven people, so Arya would continue to ensure the betterment of not only her people, but all of Alagaësia. Seeing as how she served initially as the egg courier, she would serve this role once again, but bearing the green egg this time. What better way to begin mending the fragmented land than to hatch the second egg?

* * *

><p>"Where are you going?" Blӧdhgarm asked as Arya walked away from their camp.<p>

"To stretch my legs," She answered shortly, already a fair distance from the camp. They were part of the group assigned to transport the egg to various locations in Du Weldenvarden, an honor any elf would jump for. Though there was no imminent danger to the egg, its utmost security was of paramount importance. It even took precedence over the heated debates of succession.

What Arya sought was privacy to ponder her thoughts. The white lie she had fed Blӧdhgarm merely helped her achieve that goal. Despite the elves being an inherently quiet race, she needed time to think without the judging eyes of others weighing upon her. The most free of thoughts only surfaced when none other was present, no matter how quiet the atmosphere.

Everything was different when Eragon was not around, for he had become her sole confidant. To him, she would slowly divulge her thoughts, though not in their entirety. Never in their entirety. But to the others whom she had known for many years, there was no strong bond between encouraging a profound trust. Devoid of her close friend as she was, Arya traveled the day in silence and craved solitude at night.

In a hidden and closely guarded pouch on her person, Arya kept the green egg hidden. Among the prestigious entourage, Arya had been selected to hold the egg. It was a great honor, bestowed upon her for her diligent duties concerning Saphira's egg. Though the egg was inanimate and mute, there was a certain intimacy between them. To her touch, the shell seemed to warm and its membrane soften.

Often, she would relax on a tree stump and hold caress the egg as one would a small child, staring at its unique texture for hours on end. The elf could not explain exactly what captivated her attention, for her feelings were mixed: full of wonder and curiosity, disbelief and fear. Each day she marveled at its beauty and wondered who would be fortunate enough to be its Rider. Yet she feared the day of its hatching, for then she would never again walk with it at night, slowly memorizing the patterns etched upon its shell.

There were unusual circumstances surrounding the egg as well, none of which Arya revealed to the rest of the elves. The area in her right hand where her nerves were frayed often acted up when in contact with the green egg. It was neither hurtful nor pleasurable, merely numb and senseless. The sensation seemed to radiate throughout all the adjacent muscles.

She dared not tell another soul, not even Blӧdhgarm, for Arya feared she would be relieved of her duties should her competency be questioned. The injury had never been a major concern for Arya. Occasionally it affected her grip, but that was nothing to be concerned over and certainly not enough to warrant alarm.

Sighing, Arya glanced around her, noticing she was in the center of a fairly dense forest, a league from the elven camp. It was late and she did not wish to worry the other elves, so she turned around and began to retrace her steps. She walked slowly and somberly, begrudging the ever diminishing time. Only at night was Arya was able to hold the egg and think in solitude.

Passing a nearby stream en route to the elven camp, Arya heard the distinct crackling sound of fish diving into the water. She paid no heed to the fish, for it was mating season and the males were busy attempting to impress the females, a courtesy she frowned upon in human society.

When she was a fair distance from the stream, the distinctive crackling sound continued to fill the night. Looking around, Arya could not see anything nearby that would give off such a sound. Touching the egg pouch for reassurance, Arya was immensely surprised to feel it wiggling beneath her fingers. Letting loose a startled cry, she hurriedly extracted the green egg from the leather, only to see cracks forming in several spots.

The elf set the egg on the ground as it shuddered violently, tiny squeaks emanating from within its shell. In the recesses of her mind, Arya knew exactly what was happening; but she stood there, rooted in shock. She gaped as a tiny dragon slowly clawed its way out of the confining shell. First, its head was visible; two tiny eyes peering at Arya. Then its stubby wings unfolded, still short and translucent.

As the vibrant green dragon emerged, Arya continued to stare mutely, watching it with astonished eyes. The hatchling sniffed the air, looking at its surroundings; half in curiosity, half in terror. Finally, its beady eyes rested upon Arya, staring at her inquisitively. It hesitantly made its way towards her, stumbling several times as it became accustomed to walking.

When the dragon and Arya were within touching distance, the elf instinctively extended her hand, her mind unable to process the situation coherently. The dragon sniffed her palm delicately before gently touching its nose into the center of her right hand. The feeling was like nothing Arya had ever experienced before; there was a cold rush of electricity, followed by a fiery inferno of pain. She did not know how long she stood with her hand bonded to the green dragon, for the pure energy that coursed through her eliminated any notion of time.

When the sensations ceased, Arya exhaled deeply before examining her hand. In the center of her palm lay a bright glowing oval, radiating energy. In the furthest corners of her mind, Arya could sense a young, immature consciousness tugging at her thoughts. This was more than anything she could have dreamed of, to be chosen as a Dragon Rider was unimaginable. Her mind was muddled and confused as she attempted to process the events that had transpired.

"Arya! Are you hurt?" Blӧdhgarm shouted, sprinting towards her. In his wake was the remainder of the elves. "We thought we heard you scream."

"I'm fine," She replied. To her dismay, her voice had not yet fully recovered, shaking with uncertainty. Slowly pointing towards the green dragon on the ground nearby, Arya said, "The dragon hatched moments ago." She twisted her right hand to show them the Gedwëy Ignasia. "I am his Rider."

* * *

><p><em>The elders are supposed to come to a decision today,<em> Fírnen said to Arya through their link. _Who do you think will be chosen?_

_Däthedr I'd imagine. Perhaps Levernain; both would be excellent choices,_ She replied. The many elders had met every day for the past month to decide the next monarch. It was a time-consuming task, one which Arya was glad she was not a part of.

_I like Däthedr, _Fírnen agreed, _But Levernain seemed uptight when I met him. _Fírnen was still young, barely a month old; not nearly old enough to have a firm grasp on elven politics. Not that he was dense, for he was much wiser than she. But not even Arya fully understood all of the nuances associated with elven politics even though she had endured them her entire life.

Arya ladled some soup she had prepared into a bowl. After Fírnen had hatched for her, she thought it fitting to live on the Crags of Tel'nair. Living away from the palace, one of the adjustments she had made was cooking her own food. The Houses offered to send an elf bearing food each day, but she enjoyed the labor of cooking. It helped distract her from other matters.

Blowing on the piping hot broth, Arya attempted to quickly cool the food. It was well past noon and she was ravenous after intensive training in the morning. Before she was able to taste her meal, there was a loud knock on the door, interrupting her self-administered isolation.

Opening the door, Arya found herself in the midst of twelve important nobles, Däthedr amongst them. She greeted them in the traditional elven custom, a ritual still heavily emphasized in their culture. Arya stepped outside of the house, for there was not enough room to hold thirteen inside.

"Arya, we have decided on a candidate for the throne," Däthedr stated, "As you may have surmised, we have come to the conclusion that the best person to lead the nation out of the war is you."

Nothing he said surprised her. Arya assumed that she was a top candidate for the position being the daughter of Islanzadí and ambassador of the elves. But she often chose not to dwell on the possibility, for she was a Dragon Rider; it would be unbecoming to take the crown. "I thank you for your consideration, but I cannot accept this honor," She said respectfully.

"You would denounce this opportunity presented to you by the Council?" One of the elders asked, the hard edge of his voice grating against her ears.

"I would," Arya restated firmly, "First and foremost, I am a Dragon Rider; I cannot accept this duty."

Another elder spoke up, speaking so softly that Arya had to strain her ears to hear him, "As you know, nine of the thirteen major Houses and thirty of the forty-five minor Houses must agree on a candidate. It is rare for anybody to receive more than the bare minimum of votes, but you received eleven major votes and thirty-nine minor ones. A huge margin, one of the largest in our history."

Däthedr nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, it is an unprecedented amount of votes; surely you would not refuse such a strong consensus?"

It shocked Arya that she had received such a large majority. It greatly eclipsed the consensus her mother received when she took the throne. But deep down, Arya could not accept the throne, it would be wrong to chain Fírnen to politics. "I still must reject your offer, wise elders; a Rider should never sit atop a nation: Galbatorix was a testament to that fact."

"Then we will return tomorrow, and each day after that," Faraen, one of the oldest elves alive, said. "Perhaps with some time to think, you will come to realize just _how_ much you could help the elves."

With that, the elders retreated towards Tialdarí Hall. _What do you think? _Arya asked Fírnen. Though he was young, she had come to learn that her dragon's advice was invaluable.

_I think, _Fírnen started, _That this is a decision you must reach on your own. You've spent the better part of your life working for the betterment of your kind, it is only fitting that you decide how you can best help them._

_But if I accept the crown,_ Arya argued, _Then you will irrevocably be bound to elven politics. It is as much your say as it is mine._

_Perhaps, but I don't know what would make you happiest. Just know that I will fully support whatever decision you come to._

It was times like these when Arya truly realized just how important Fírnen had become to her. He was the pillar that kept her strong this past month. _I won't accept it, _She said stubbornly, _No matter how many times the elders come, I won't change my stance._

It was all too soon when the sun rose the next morning. Arya had received little sleep as she tossed in her bed, thoughts racing through her mind. There were several reasons why she should not be the queen, but there were just as many that supported her ascension. But Arya knew that she could not accept the title in good conscience, even if she wanted to. Nobody should accept a position of such power if there were even the smallest doubts.

There was little surprise when Däthedr visited her home in the midday. This time around, there were fewer elders present, only half a dozen accompanying Däthedr. "Have you changed your mind, Arya?" He asked.

"No," She replied. "My reasons are the same: I'm not suitable for the job."

"We believe that you are the most qualified person to take the throne," Däthedr responded coolly. "You wish to serve the elven people in the best way possible, what better method than to become their queen?"

Arya had anticipated this counter and had her own response pre-planned. "If I were to become queen, the entire balance of the races would be thrown off. Surely you see the other nations rising up against us?"

"I am sure that Eragon Shadeslayer will personally vouch for your impartiality as a Rider," Däthedr said, "The humans and dwarves would have no argument if he assures them of your validity."

Eragon would support her should she choose to take the throne, Arya did not doubt. But the last thing the fragmented lands needed was tension regarding the dragons. "Still, I must refuse the crown, for I cannot do something I feel is unethical."

"I see. We will return on the morrow, think on the topic with an objective view, knowing that the majority of the elves believe you to be the most capable," Däthedr said before leaving.

Arya slumped in a wooden chair; everything had become so complicated of late. First, she could not contact Eragon in any form, for it might jeopardize Fírnen's safety, something she would never do. It was only logical that she cut off all communication, for much depended on her dragon. But no matter the reasons, it still hurt to cut herself off from her one friend. Now, the Knotted Throne served only to make everything even more convoluted.

_How long will it be before you succumb to Däthedr's reasons? _Fírnen asked innocently.

_I won't. _Her response was weak and she knew it. _What do you think I should do?_

_Whatever makes you happiest, _He responded gently.

_Can I truly be happy being a queen? _Arya knew from experience that being a monarch entailed countless hours of work with little personal happiness. Especially for one without a mate, as Arya would be if she took the throne. _There must be other candidates besides me who are more than capable of taking the crown._

_Perhaps, but the elders see something in you that other people do not possess._

Arya pondered his statement for a moment. _I am neither the wisest nor the oldest elf. I have considerably less experience than others in regards to politics. I believe that there are others who can rule better than I can._

The next several days passed similarly; with Däthedr arriving at her doorstep with yet more reasons to accept the crown. Every time he came, it seemed as if her convictions weakened and she leaned more and more towards ascending the Knotted Throne. And each time he returned, there were fewer elders accompanying him. Perhaps he perceived that his companions put Arya on edge, doing nothing to further his case.

The customary knock arrived as Arya had just finished eating her lunch. It was the seventh day since the elders first offered her the elven crown and Arya grew tired of the game she involuntarily participated in. Opening the door, Arya found only Däthedr standing before her. Gone were all the other elders that had originally accompanied him.

"Arya, are you ready to accept the crown?" The elf in front of her asked.

"No," She replied swiftly. Nothing had changed since Däthedr's last visit.

"Would you like to hear why the elders chose you and nobody else?" He asked. Without giving Arya time to respond, he continued, "We all believe that you possess a certain fire within you that none other offers."

"What do they see in me?" Arya asked, part cynically, part curiously.

"They see an indomitable flame to pursue the greater good. Time and time again, you have proven that you will sacrifice yourself for the betterment of all." She opened her mouth to protest, but Däthedr silenced her with a finger. "And you are unique among the elves for being able to take the initiative. When everybody else was content to sit in Du Weldenvarden, plotting how to overthrow Galbatorix, you pushed the nation in the right direction by aiding the Varden."

Arya could see the point he was trying to make, and she grudgingly accepted his reasons as valid. But they still were not enough to change her decision. "Surely there are others like me who would make a better monarch?"

"Without you, Arya," Däthedr said, "We may never have won the war. It would be in the best interests of the elves if someone of your fiery determination and moral values were to lead us out of the aftermath of the war."

Finally, she saw what the elders found in her. She was an elf who could change the political landscape forever. Only she had lived with humans and dwarves for an extended period of time and learned their customs. With Arya as their queen, the elves could move towards a stable, solidified Alagaësia. She was the only logical choice for the crown, for no other elf could hope to improve relations with other races as much as she could.

In the end, her decision was made and Arya knew she was making the right decision for herself and for the elven nation. "I will accept the elven crown, Däthedr."

The elf standing before her smiled widely before bending on one knee. "May your rule be a prosperous one, my queen."

As he departed to tell the elders the news, Arya asked Fírnen, _Do you accept my decision?_

_Of course, _Fírnen snorted, _I knew you choose this, even if you did not. I don't think you could have been happy walking away from the offer._

_Perhaps you are right. _Arya was immensely glad Fírnen was with her each step of the way. He aided her like none other could. _It is an honor to be your Rider, Fírnen._

* * *

><p><em>Are you ready to meet Eragon and Saphira? <em>Arya asked Fírnen. They were on the last leg of the journey to the location Arya designated in her brief letter to Eragon. It had been half a year since she last saw her friend; it would be good to speak with Eragon once again.

_Of course, _Fírnen replied. Though he did not show it, Arya knew his excitement bubbled near the surface. Many a time had she regaled Fírnen of stories about Eragon and Saphira, and he had awaited his chance to meet them through the long months. _I wonder what Saphira will think of me._

_That you're brave and strong, _Arya assured him, placating his anxiety. First impressions were of paramount importance to dragons. _There's no need to fret, Saphira is very kind; you will like her very much._

_And Eragon? I know you value his opinion highly._

Arya patted the scales on Fírnen's neck, _Eragon only bemoans those who hurt the innocent. Despite that, he still has compassion for them, no matter what they have done. He will accept you as easily and assuredly as he would anybody else. Even more given that you are a dragon._

The rest of the flight was silent, each busy thinking of what they would say, what they would do. The dragon and Rider were a league away from their destination when a triumphant roar sounded over the barren fields. Saphira ascended from a plateau below, soaring towards Fírnen. _She's a magnificent dragon, _Fírnen murmured.

Arya agreed with him as Fírnen and Saphira circled each other. She saw Eragon sitting atop Saphira and she raised her arm as he waved at her. Though it was difficult to see while the two dragons were moving so fast, Arya glimpsed a bright smile on Eragon's visage.

In a rush of excitement and frenzy, Saphira and Fírnen chased each other through the brisk air, spiraling towards Eragon's encampment. When they landed, she disengaged herself from Fírnen as quickly as possible. Running to the center of the clearing, Arya intercepted Eragon as he made his way towards her. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon." Eragon was the Master Rider, and she an ordinary Dragon Rider. It was only right she paid her respects to him.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Arya…Drӧttning?" He answered hesitantly, unsure of her new rank.

"Drӧttning. My people chose to give me my mother's title, and I chose to accept." Arya had imagined this rendezvous often in an attempt to picture Eragon's reaction to her coronation. Even after her deliberations, Arya could not say with any certainty how he would react.

But for now, his attention was diverted to Fírnen. It was no surprise, for aside from Murtagh and Thorn, he and Saphira had believed they were the only dragon and Rider left. "Eragon, this is Fírnen. Fírnen, this is Eragon," She said, introducing the two males.

After parlaying for a few minutes, Fírnen resumed his examination of Saphira. Arya could feel the excitement and adoration Fírnen held for the other dragon. Leaving them to their own devices, Arya and Eragon walked a fair distance away from the dragons. "You must think badly of me for ignoring you and Saphira for so long and for keeping such a secret as Fírnen," She said, raising the issue that had plagued her mind for months.

"Did you receive my letter?" Eragon asked.

From the depths of her tunic, Arya withdrew a folded piece of parchment. It was beaten and battered after having been opened countless times. Oftentimes, Arya would read the letter, wishing she were able to send a reply. It had become a sentimental object to her, for it was the only item she had from Eragon. If nothing else, the message helped her maintain the silence.

"Why keep him hidden?" Eragon asked. Apparently, the lack of communication had also weighed on his mind.

It was a simple reason really; Fírnen's safety took precedence over all else. The only logical approach to protect him until maturity was through complete secrecy. "With so many of Galbatorix's servants still on the loose and so few dragons remaining, I did not want to risk anyone finding out about Fírnen until he was large enough to defend himself."

"And how long have you been queen?" The burning curiosity was carefully hidden deep within the layers of Eragon's voice. But she knew him well enough to hear through his emotionless tone.

"Since a month after my return." Arya could have explained the entire ordeal, but those details were rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It was crucial that he understood _why _she accepted the role and not so much _how_.

His questions seemed endless, though Eragon could not be blamed. Two monumental events suddenly revealed at the same time. Such a reaction was normal and expected. "Was it because you are Islanzadí's daughter, or was it because you had become a Rider?"

The intricacies of elven politics were far too involved to be degenerated into such simple reasons; but to explain the underpinnings of their society, it would take a century to do it justice. Arya racked her brain, trying to think of a simplified explanation. "Our politics are far more complicated than those of the humans or the dwarves, and choosing a new monarch is never easy. Every choice is part of a subtle game that we have been playing amongst ourselves for thousands of years. There were many reasons why they wanted me to become queen, not all of them obvious."

"The Riders aren't supposed to support any one race above the others," Eragon said, voicing the age-old concern.

"The world is not as it used to be," Arya countered. This much was true; the Fall had dramatically changed the scene of Alagaësia's politics. The Dragon Riders would be hard-pressed to avoid politics, for they were the sole force of stability remaining in a torn land. "With Islanzadí dead, I felt obliged to take the task upon myself." I cannot abandon my people now, when their need is so great."

He was silent for a moment, and when he resumed talking, Eragon's voice was low and quiet. "They will always have need of you."

"And I will always answer their call," Arya replied. This was the one thing she was sure of; she would always do what was best for her people. She would do as her mother had done and care for the elves like they were her own children.

"I understand why you did not contact us for so long. I probably would have done the same in your place," Eragon finally said, dropping the issue.

"Thank you," Arya replied, a genuine smile touching her lips. His acceptance meant more to her than Eragon knew.

While the pair spoke of the past, Arya felt a spasm of pain in her left leg. Looking towards the dragons, she noticed Saphira had bitten Fírnen on his left thigh. It was not a playful nip, but a serious challenge. Arya knew what Saphira expected of Fírnen; she expected that Fírnen prove himself to her. _If you want her to respect you, then you have to bite her in return,_ She said good-naturedly to both Fírnen and Eragon. It was customary that the male prove himself worthy of a female's affection. Such things were not given freely.

Her dragon heeded Arya's advice and proceeded to wrestle with Saphira. The two grappled on the ground for a moment before Saphira shook herself free of Fírnen's embrace. Reacting instinctually to Saphira's growl, Fírnen let loose a heated torrent of fire. Through their connection, Arya felt an immense sense of pride emanating from her dragon; for he had never breathed fire before.

The two dragons leapt high into the air, spiraling around each other with flames still flowing from their mouths. From her studies, Arya knew they had begun the mating ritual, an ancient tradition that was both terrifying and glorious. Saphira and Fírnen eventually traveled such a great distance that Arya could hardly feel Fírnen's presence. "Well, that didn't take long," Eragon said.

Arya continued gazing into the far distance where Fírnen had disappeared. To see the first mating ritual since before the Fall was humbling to say the least. Arya counted herself fortunate, for she was unsure if she would ever witness such an act again.

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw that Eragon held a stone tablet in his hand. Before she could inquire, Eragon threw the smooth stone at the ground. "Kausta," Arya said, causing the tablet to careen towards her open hand.

Though Eragon did not speak, she could tell he was distressed. In her hand, Arya immediately noticed that the tablet was a fairth depicting her. It was a good, honest picture; not drawing unreasonable comparisons to perfection as he once had. It showed her both her subtle flaws and good qualities, attempting to exaggerate neither. Arya stared thoughtfully at the picture for a minute, recognizing how Eragon had changed in some aspects and remained the same in others. He certainly was much more mature than he used to be, and Arya could not deny how much she valued his continued friendship.

In a moment of clairvoyant trust, Arya exposed her vulnerable side; something she had never done before to anyone. "Eragon, if you are willing, I would like to tell you my true name." In all her life, never had Arya dreamed of trusting another being so completely that she would tell them of her innermost soul. Eragon had far surpassed all her expectations of him.

The man across from her nodded mutely, in obvious surprise at the turn of events. Arya could only hazard a guess at what was going through his mind. "I would be honored to hear it."

Arya leaned in close, whispering her true name to her closest of friends. When she had said all that she was, Arya stepped back, staring intently at his face. Trusting that one would not misuse a true name was only one part of the risks; the other was their acceptance of all that a true name entailed. She sighed in great relief when Eragon said, "You should be proud of who you are. Thank you for sharing it with me. I am glad to call you my friend, and I promise that I will always keep your name safe…Will you now, hear mine?"

Eragon was about to tell her the most confidential of secrets, one that required complete confidence to be given. "I will. And I promise to remember and protect it for so long as it remains yours."

The Rider leaned in, much as she had done, and told her the name of his soul. Eragon stepped back, watching her reaction. Many thoughts raced through her head, recollections of the changes he endured appealing to her. The name he shared was undoubtedly derived from his tremendous personal growth over the last few years. "You have a good name as well, Eragon. You've grown much since we first met."

"I've had to," Came his reply as Eragon breathed in obvious relief.

In his name, Arya found herself mentioned in part of it, a result of the deep, lingering emotions Eragon had for her. Once, she would have dismissed them as a child's fantasy, but his love for her was real and Arya knew it. "You are still young, but you are no longer a child." It was a simple statement, one that required no response to verify its validity.

A new worry seemed to bother Eragon as he looked at her apprehensively, "Arya, what is to become of us?"

The question forced her to evaluate everything she knew: his feelings, her feelings, their duty, their age, their races. "I don't know…Once, as you know, I would have said, 'nothing,' but…Again, you are still young, and humans often change their minds. In ten years, or even five, you may no longer feel as you now do."

"My feelings won't change," Eragon replied confidently. His voice made Arya want to believe him, though history had taught her otherwise.

Arya looked into his eyes, searching for honesty and love, commitment and maturity; all of which she found. "If they don't, then perhaps in time…" Arya rested her hand on his cheek as a gesture of hope. "I do not want to make a mistake with you, Eragon. You are too important for that, both to me and to the whole of Alagaësia." She meant what she said; if they rushed into a commitment rashly, then everything might fall apart. That was an outcome Arya would not be able to live with.

"But we don't have time," Eragon said, his voice strangely choked. "We can't hide the eggs or the Eldunarí in Alagaësia. So Saphira and I have decided that the only thing we can do is leave Alagaësia and raise the dragons elsewhere, far away from other people." He rushed through his explanation rapidly in an attempt to explain everything at once. "Saphira and I intend to leave as soon as we can, and if you stay…I do not know if we will ever see each other again."

The news shocked Arya to her very core, rattling her grasp on reality. It hurt her unbearably to know that she would lose her friend to fate. "Are you sure about this, Eragon? Is it really the only way—to leave behind everything and everyone you have ever known?"

"It's necessary, and our departure was always meant to be," Eragon said, alluding to his fortune-telling. Arya had always been skeptical of such foretelling, but Angela was more powerful than any of them could imagine. "Will you come with us?"

Arya seriously contemplated the offer. No matter how much it wounded her, there was nothing that could prevent her from carrying out her duty. That was what she lived by. "I cannot." As she said this, unbidden moisture coated her eyes and Arya clutched the fairth closely to her body. It would find a place in her home, an ever-lasting memory of Eragon.

"We still have some time together. You will not leave immediately," Arya said, grasping desperately at whatever time remained. The couple stood together awaiting the return of their respective dragons in mourning. A small gesture, Arya touched Eragon's hand lightly. She felt her world become both whole and empty when Eragon grasped her hand in his, setting fire to her emotions.

* * *

><p>"It's a fine day," Arya remarked as their boat, the <em>Talíta, <em>sailed smoothly down the Edda River. It was a picturesque horizon, nary a cloud in the sky. If it had not been for Eragon's impending departure, the sight would have pleased her. As it was, Arya and Fírnen unanimously agreed to accompany Eragon and Saphira all the way to Hedarth.

"It is," Eragon agreed. There was a palpable tension in the air, but neither of them deigned to speak of it. They both knew nothing good could come of such a conversation. For Arya, it was difficult enough to stand beside Eragon knowing she might never see him again.

"We should be nearing Hedarth soon," She informed him, "Don't expect anything extravagant compared to Ellesméra or Tronjheim; the place hasn't been used since the Fall." Their destination had once been a small trading hub used by the elves and the dwarves. But since Galbatorix's uprising, trade between the races had been scarce, causing Hedarth to fall into disuse.

Eragon nodded, "With any luck it will see more traders now that the war is over."

The pair stood on the boat, observing the passing scenery for hours in grim silence. It was not until an involuntary tremor overtook her arm that Eragon asked, "Are you alright, Arya?"

"Of course. My muscles are a little tense, that's all," Arya lied. In truth, the injury she had sustained at Helgrind was beginning to alarm her. Occasionally, her muscles would spasm without warning. None other than Fírnen knew of her condition, for it would cause unduly worry should her subjects perceive her weakness.

But Eragon had known her for too long to be misled by her deception; he had become accustomed to reading beneath her carefully concealed layers. "Say it in the Ancient Language."

She tried to form the words in her mouth, but the ancient seals held fast and rendered her mute. For a moment, Arya considered circumventing the truth as she often did, but deceiving Eragon left her feeling guilty and sullied of late. "My hand injury has been nagging me," She said, sighing in resignation.

He lifted her hand gingerly, as one would a porcelain vase. "Isn't there anybody who can heal this?"

Arya shook her head, "Blӧdhgarm is among the most elite healers; if he cannot mend it, then no one has the knowledge to do so."

Eragon frowned, obviously displeased by this latest news. It felt oddly gratifying to have someone worry over her, a feeling lost to Arya long ago. "Will you allow me to try to heal you?" Her friend asked.

"There's no need to waste your energy Eragon," She said, "It is something I must to live with." Arya felt no remorse, for there had been a price to protect Eragon from the Ra'zac and she had paid it without hesitation. She would have done the same with her other hand had circumstances demanded it of her.

"But you are hurt on my behalf," Eragon pleaded, "Just let me try—"

"Do not blame yourself, Eragon," Arya interjected, "It is a wound I received while performing my duty. I would not have it any other way." To her, the remnants of injuries were badges of honor; they identified her as a person who carried out their duty, no matter the consequences.

The remainder of the journey to Hedarth passed rapidly; and before Arya knew it, they had joined Orik and his men who had waited for their arrival. They feasted for a day and a half, all of which passed far too quickly for her liking. The moment of Eragon's departure hauntingly crept closer and soon, Arya found herself standing alongside the elves as Eragon bid his final farewells.

She stood behind the other elves, her white hood drawn over her head. Such raiment was an elven custom that preceded a great loss. Each of the elves who accompanied Eragon to the lands beyond had given up their past lives for the dragons. Arya's hood was drawn for the bonds that were breaking, not only with Eragon, but all the accompanying elves as well.

As Eragon somberly touched Roran atop his shoulder and turned towards the solemn column of elves, Arya whispered, "Eragon." It was a simple statement that held meaning beyond words. There was nothing either of them was willing to say to lessen the burden of the ordeal.

"Arya," He said hoarsely, "Stay with me—"

She thought she knew what Eragon was asking for and Arya had to interrupt him before it hurt to talk any longer. "I cannot."

"…Stay with me until the first curve in the river," He finished, looking her directly in the eye. It was not the request she had anticipated, merely a forlorn plea to prolong their time together.

Though it would have been easier to part ways there and then on the shore, Arya could not deny her heart and nodded. Grasping his arm, the couple slowly strode across the ship until they reached the prow. It was an absurd moment; for there she was, standing on a ship departing Alagaësia, and Arya was loathe to take the logical choice and fly back home.

As the boat approached the first turn, Arya felt a sense of finality in the air. Eragon's hand gingerly peeled her hood back and their eyes met for possibly the last time. "Arya," He said, murmuring her true name. A curious feeling of recognition coursed through her, for Eragon knew all that she was.

"Eragon," She replied, following his example. Arya could see the visible effect it had on him. She saw Eragon for who he truly was, and that was the closest she had ever felt to another elf or human.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Arya quieted him gently with three fingers. There was no need to suffer any longer. Words between them would only leave them in doubt, guessing what could have been. It was simpler this way.

Arya raised her hand high in the air and said her final words. "Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer." As she knew he would, Fírnen soared through the sky, picking her up with his claws.

Before they were out of earshot, Arya vaguely heard Eragon's ghostly whisper, "Farewell." Tears streamed from her eyes as she mourned for what never would be.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span>

I know that the previous chapter had a lot of scenes directly from the book, but that was an unavoidable part of this story. Hopefully none of you were turned away by that detail. I appreciate all reviews and (mild) criticisms of both my story and my writing style. As long you're not inflammatory, your opinion will be considered. Until next time ;)


	3. Pathos

I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the scenes I've borrowed from the books. All credit goes to Christopher Paolini.

* * *

><p><strong>Pathos<strong>

"Our trade with the humans and dwarves has increased ten-fold and resources are more abundant now more than ever," Arya's advisor, Niraen, said. "The elves have benefitted greatly from the treaty you proposed."

Arya listened to Niraen rattle on about various updates concerning a myriad of issues. Her concentration was fragmented at present and she found it difficult to focus on the endless amount of information presented to her. Niraen's voice faded into an annoying buzzing in the background.

"And we have regained much of the prosperity we had before the Fall, according to several estimates. The other nations have expressed interest in increased relations and are eagerly awaiting your approval," Niraen paused, rifling through the stack of papers she held in her hand. "Did you hear all of that, Majesty?"

"Yes, yes," Arya replied irritably. "You can send a messenger to the other races informing them that I approve of additional trading and joint security. Is there anything else you must tell me, Niraen?"

Her tall, slender assistant had become accustomed to Arya's often abrupt and curt responses. "No, that concludes the annual report. With your leave," She replied courteously, gesturing towards the door.

"Thank you, you may leave." She sank in her chair; annual reports were something Arya had come to loathe. They were tedious and mundane, for it was merely a summary of the information she had received periodically throughout the year.

_How was your day? _Fírnen asked smugly; he knew exactly what day it was.

_Must I relive that awful experience? _She sighed, half-serious and half-mocking.

_Well, I'd like to hear it, _He quipped. Fírnen often teased Arya of the monotonous hours she spent in court.

_If you must know, the report confirmed that the elves have advanced substantially both in economics and diplomacy. Since the war ended three years ago, we have restored much of what we lost, _Arya stated. It was an oddly proud sensation knowing she helped bring the elves to where they were now.

A group of nobles walked into the throne room, having scheduled a meeting with Arya. They were from a sect of elves that were particularly opposed to dealing with the other races in Alagaësia. "Your Majesty," One of them said politely, "We wish to consult you about a…rather sensitive issue."

Though these elves were benign, Arya could not help but be wary of whatever issues they brought up. "What do you need?" She said tiredly.

"It's the pact Eragon Shadeslayer made with the dragons," Their leader, Arshuilduin said. "We believe that the other races are given too many chances to hatch a dragon."

Arya sighed, the elves were often extremely stubborn and set in their ways. She knew there was a fairly large number of elves who did not agree with Urgals and dwarves being Riders. Some radicals even opposed human Dragon Riders. "The other races receive the same amount of eggs as we do."

"We realize that, but do you not agree that the elves have always held the dragons in the highest regard? Should we not have the most Riders?" Arshuilduin said.

"The natural balance in Alagaësia relies upon equal numbers of Riders each race," Arya refuted. "It would be unwise to upset that balance." This much was true, for much of the elves' decline was linked to the demise of the dragons. Upsetting that precarious equilibrium again would spell disaster.

"You are close with Eragon Shadeslayer, are you not?" Arshuilduin, "Surely you can convince him to exclude the dwarves and Urgals from the pact at the very least?"

Arya seethed inside at their blatant prejudice. It was sickening to think that they still considered themselves superior, even when all the races played their part in the war. "I see no reason why I should do that."

"Because the dwarves do not praise the dragons as we do. No, they fear dragons and therefore should not be granted the privilege of being Riders. As for the Urgals, they are brutes and far too war-like. Having Dragon Riders could provoke tensions between the races," He refuted.

"Perhaps you may have noticed, but we are not what we once were. The rest of the world does not bend to our fingertips," Arya rebuked coldly, "I do not have time to deal with this insatiable squabbling. You may leave now."

"But—"

"You may _leave_," Arya reasserted firmly. The group of elves stared blankly at her for a moment before turning on their heels and leaving Arya to her peace. Her job if nothing else was exhausting.

_I can't believe how provincial some people are, _She said to Fírnen, _It's truly surprising._

_You know well that elves are a resilient race. Some are unable to see past their blind hatred, _Fírnen answered. _Don't be too harsh on them._

_I know, I know, _Arya grumbled. He was right, as he always was. _I suppose that my time with the Varden truly helped me understand the other races._

_And Eragon, _Her dragon added. _He is a human, no?_

_That he is, _Arya agreed. _Though he is more elf than human now. _It had been a long time since she had spoken to Eragon. They communicated through letters occasionally, but never verbally. The wards surrounding Du Weldenvarden prevented any sort of magic from entering, benign or not.

_I never knew him before he was transformed. And I don't know any other humans, so I will take your word for it, _Fírnen replied. In the few years that had passed since his hatching, Arya had only journeyed beyond Du Weldenvarden's fringes a handful of times. Fírnen rarely met other races; and when he did, it was only for a short time.

_One day you will meet people of other races, _Arya promised. It would be unfair to chain Fírnen to throne for his entire life. _I shouldn't think that I'll be queen until I die._

_I will wait patiently for that day, _Fírnen said. _As long as you are happy being the queen, I will support you._

Arya sent a wave of gratitude through their connection. He was the sole reason she had stayed sane when Eragon and Saphira had left. Fírnen never asked for anything in return; she truly was in his debt.

The rest of her day passed in much the same manner, with several issues arising through the day which she handled promptly. Several nobles approached her with issues concerning the preparations for the next festival, which House should accommodate the newest guest in Ellesméra, and the rate of children being born. Arya listened to all of these patiently albeit with white knuckles and a sore backside. At times, her mind wandered, thinking of Fírnen and days long past.

Though her job was stressful and tedious, Arya was driven by the knowledge that she was helping her people achieve prosperity.

* * *

><p><em>Where are you going?<em> Fírnen asked as Arya opened the door leading to the Crags of Tel'nair.

_To the Menoa Tree, _She responded. The tree was only a short walk from her home, though it would have been much shorter had she lived in Tialdarí Hall. But Arya was different, for she was a Rider, and it only seemed right to pay homage to the Dragon Riders of old by living on the Crags of Tel'nair.

_Would you like to fly there? _Fírnen asked, landing in front of her with a thump. He lowered his neck to the ground, allowing Arya to climb up easily.

Arya obliged and took her normal seat in the juncture between his neck and shoulders. Feeling the wind envelope her was one of the best feelings after a long day in Tialdarí Hall. There was nothing quite like flying far above the land, looking down at the trees. Arya pitied those less fortunate.

The area surrounding the Menoa Tree was desolate, for it was dark and most elves had retired for the night. Arya often came at this time to sit under the tree and relax. The burdens of the day evaporated whenever she sat here. The isolation made it easier to ponder thoughts, for there were no ambitious nobles striving to complete their agenda.

Staring blankly into the darkness ahead of her, enabling the void to seep into her very being; Arya did not react when Fírnen rested his head next to her. _What are you thinking about, Arya? _Her dragon asked her. His large, scaly eyelid turned towards her.

_The usual, _She replied. Arya often reflected on how drastically her life had changed in the last few years. _I just felt…empty…today while listening to Niraen and the other elves._

_But you've felt like that for several months now, haven't you? _Fírnen said.

It was true. For the past few months, Arya had sought the Menoa Tree increasingly often after enduring the court's constant bickering. _Ah…yes…, _She admitted. _It's just something that I'll have to live with. Every monarch deals with this._

Fírnen pondered her statement for awhile; his slow, steady breathing soothing her troubled mind. _Let me ask you this: are you happy? _

_Of course, why would you ask that? _Arya asked, startled by the question. There was no doubt about it; she was serving those whom she valued most, what else could she ask for?

_Because you've changed, Arya. You're no longer the same person you once were, _Fírnen said.

_No I haven't, _She refuted, _I am still the same person I've always been. I—_

Her partner-of-the-mind interrupted her, _No you're not. It may not be evident to you, but it is clear as day to me. You are not the same person you were when you took the throne three years ago._

_Tell me, how did I change? _Arya had a sinking feeling Fírnen was right, partially at least. Some of the things she once enjoyed no longer held the same level of interest for her.

_Well, _Fírnen started, _The way you think has changed. You used to do be completely certain about what you were doing if it were for the greater good. Now, I'm not so sure. Lately, your heart has been influencing more of your thoughts and decisions. Am I right, my Rider?_

Arya pondered what he said, attempting to objectively examine every decision she had made recently. His proposal held truth in it; even referencing the day's events, her mind had not been present when dealing with her subjects. When Arya had first begun her reign as queen, she had memorized every detail presented to her, no matter how insignificant. _You may be, _She sighed, _Then what should I do?_

_Hmmm, _Fírnen said, withdrawing into his own thoughts. If there was a solution to her dilemma, Arya could not see it. _Do what makes you happiest._

It was a piece of advice that only further befuddled her. _I don't know what makes me happy, _She sighed. Every breath she had taken since becoming the elven ambassador was for the betterment of her people.

_Does being queen bring you personal happiness? _He asked. It seemed as if Fírnen were trying to coax Arya in a specific direction.

_Yes…no…It's who I am, that's all. _It was the best explanation she could come up with. It was true, for she virtually had no interests outside of Fírnen and her people.

_Why do you feel like some of your duties no longer interest you? _Fírnen continued, gently nudging her with his words.

_I don't know, _Arya confessed, frustrated with the lack of progress in the conversation. _I just don't feel as complete as I once did._

_Then perhaps you—_Whatever Fírnen had been about to say was lost; for at that moment, Arya suddenly clutched her right hand tightly to her chest in shock. A cold numbness paralyzed her hand, the muscles not responding properly. This happened sporadically, increasing in severity every time.

_Arya! What's happened? _Fírnen's voice rang with alarm.

_It's my hand, again. _She said, nursing her arm. _It's getting worse, I can't feel my entire hand this time. _She tried to clench her fist, but to no avail. The muscles in her hand refused to bend. Her mind immediately contrived several outcomes of varying degrees of horror. The prospect of losing her hand terrified her.

She had never thought of how closely she identified with her physical abilities until the numbness in her hand became a concern. Now, Arya was well aware that the coordinated use of her muscles was a large part of who she was.

Holding her limp hand as one would a baby, Arya willed her hand to obey her commands. And eventually the dead sensation slowly disappeared, enabling her to flex her muscles to her great relief. It was not until her hand successfully opened and closed several times did Arya lean back against the sturdy Menoa Tree. The sudden bout of numbness left her full of worries and trepidations.

_I worry about you, Arya, _Fírnen said gently. It was difficult to forget that Fírnen was affected by her disability nearly as much as she was. Her dragon draped his long, leathery wing over Arya, cradling her against his side.

_I know…But there is nothing I can do, the most talented elves have tried to heal my hand without success, _Arya replied wistfully. The most prestigious healers in the modern era had been called upon to cure her ailment, but each of them failed as miserably as the last.

_Indeed they have…_His voice trailed off. _The most talented elven healers tried and failed…But not those from ages long past. _Excitement began to emanate from Fírnen, an idea taking root in his mind. _The Eldunarí from the Vault of Souls must contain much information that has been lost over the generations. _

_There is bound to be some magic lost, but the Eldunarí are inaccessible now, _Arya reminded him. It was a good idea, she thought; but it was impossible to access their vast store of knowledge. They had been taken by Eragon when he left the continent three years ago.

_But you and I, we can travel there. I have thought of the distance described in Eragon's letters; it is not so far that I can't fly provided we rest on the islands between us. _

_I cannot leave Alagaësia, I'm the queen. It would be irresponsible for me to leave now, _Arya countered. The thought of leaving Alagaësia troubled her greatly. Never before had she entertained the thought of leaving her home, even temporarily.

_We don't know how much worse your hand will become if you wait any longer, _Fírnen pressed. _Already, your condition is steadily deteriorating. You must act now if you wish to have any chance find a cure._

Her eyelids closed, enclosing the multitude of emotions bottled up inside of her. Fear, anxiety, desolation; these were all threatening to overwhelm her. Abandoning her own people to save a part of herself, it seemed a selfish act to commit. _What if the Eldunarí do not have the cure I'm looking for? There is a good chance that I will lose my hand, regardless of my choice._

_What other option is there? Hope is all you have to cling to. Time is not on your side._

_I know, _Arya sighed. All of her options seemed to lead to the same place: away from Alagaësia. She had hoped to never be forced to make a decision such as this, but it was unavoidable now. _I will go to Eragon and seek his aid, _She finally said, quelling her tumultuous heart. It pained Arya to put her own concerns before those of the elves', but it would be unfair otherwise.

_Good, _Fírnen said, relieved. _I'm glad you came to that decision._

_We will not be able to leave right away, _Arya warned, _There are preparations I must attend to._

* * *

><p>Watching the elders enter the throne room, Arya noted their confusion dispositions. She had called for an emergency meeting, summoning the elves with short notice. A few had approached her seeking answers, but Arya turned them away, maintaining her silence until the official announcement.<p>

When the last of the elders had arrived, Arya collected herself and stood in front of the Knotted Throne. This was a monumental decision, one that would have severe repercussions. "You all must be wondering why I summoned you here today," Arya started, receiving a few nods in return. "The reason I stand here before you is to inform you that I plan to visit Du Valdrvarden, home of the Dragon Riders." Each face she looked at remained stoic, awaiting additional information.

"As most of you already know, the hand injury I sustained in Helgrind has bothered me. But what you are not aware of is its decreasing condition. With each successive bout of numbness, more and more of my hand is lost to the sensation. Soon, I fear I will lose control of my right hand permanently." She paused, allowing the words to sink in. "Due to such forebodings, I have decided to seek the aid of the Eldunarí stored in Du Valdrvarden. Such is the reason I have gathered all of you here today." When Arya finished, the entire room was eerily silent, sulking in the mood she bestowed upon it.

One of the elders, Tlaéri, spoke up, "Your Majesty, surely there is an alternative to the solution you have proposed."

"There is no elf alive able to cure my ailment, but the Eldunarí contain endless amounts of information lost to us," Arya replied.

"And how long will you remain on Du Valdrvarden? There will be a great many effects due to your absence. Tlaéri asked.

"I cannot honestly answer that question. It may be a few short weeks, or it may be several months. There is no way to determine that at this present time."

"I see…" The elder thought for a split-second, "Then we have no choice but to elect a substitute monarch until you return. We must maintain stability within the nation."

Arya had known the elders would arrive at this decision, for it was the only sensible one available. "Do as you see fit." She let them sit in deep silence for a few moments before continuing. "Do I have your approval for my leave of absence?"

Tlaéri glanced at each of the gathered elves' faces before responding. "You do, Your Majesty. May your travels be safe."

* * *

><p><em>How much further? <em>Arya asked Fírnen. They soared far above the ebbing tide, flying at the same altitude as the native seagulls. Though they departed from Alagaësia only a few days ago, she already felt isolated from her people.

_We should be there within the hour, _Her dragon replied, _Land should appear on the horizon soon. _This journey pleased Fírnen greatly, for the pair did not have the opportunity to fly often.

Only fifteen minutes had elapsed when Arya first spotted Du Valdrvarden in the far distance. In the three years since the Dragon Rider order was reformed, she had never once visited the stronghold, thoroughly occupied by her royal duties. But a part of Arya knew that she had intentionally refrained from making the trip. Though she would never admit it to anybody, she was afraid that once she traveled to Du Valdrvarden, the allure of its lifestyle would draw her in.

_Are you excited to meet all the other dragons? _Arya asked. There had been many eggs that had hatched, and though Fírnen had met many of them, the acquaintances had been fleeting. Arya sensed that her dragon longed to live with other dragons and it pained her to deny him so.

_Of course, _He replied coolly. Though Fírnen's tone was calm and collected, Arya knew him well enough to detect the restrained undercurrent hidden beneath.

_And Saphira as well, you haven't seen her in three years. Think of how much she'll have grown since then. _In truth, as Arya talked of Saphira, her thoughts strayed to Eragon. How much had he grown? Was he still the same person? Did he continue to hold feelings for her despite the passing years.

_I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to see everybody, _Fírnen assured her. Neither of them had any idea how long their stay would be. It could take a few hours to heal Arya's hand or several months to find the remedy. There was no way to tell.

Their conversation ceased as the looming island rapidly approached. With the size of buildings quickly increasing, Arya spotted two immense guard towers rising far above the land. Between them lay a palace rivaling Tialdarí Hall in both size and majesty. It was intricately decorated, containing architectural designs from ages long past. Archways curved gracefully over cobbled walkways, circumventing a beautiful central garden. It was humbling to think that only three years ago, this place was teeming with forests.

Fírnen landed in the garden, placed conveniently in the center of the castle. While Arya extricated herself from the leather saddle, one of the Dragon Riders, Tímern, greeted her. Tímern was an elf Rider she had met while his dragon matured. Typically, Riders did not receive training until a few months after their dragons had hatched. "My Queen," He greeted courtesously. Though Dragon Riders were unaffiliated with continental monarchies, most still retained some form of attachment to their race. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"And you as well, Tímern," Arya replied cordially. "I realize that I did not send warning of my arrival, but where may I find Eragon?"

"Ah, let's see," Tímern mused, "Master Eragon should be in his office at this hour. He always handles the paperwork after dinner. Would you like me to escort you there?"

"That would be most appreciated," She said gratefully. In an unfamiliar castle of this magnitude, Arya was certain she would have lost her bearings if she were alone.

Her guide started walking at a respectable pace, angling towards one of the entrances to the palace. _I will seek out other dragons, _Fírnen announced, taking to the air. Arya noticed her dragon move with haste, eager to meet others of his kin.

Arya passed several other Riders, greeting them politely in the richly adorned hallways. There were men and women of all races in this cultural mecca. It was wonderful to see the unity that thrived within the halls, something that was not present anywhere in Alagaësia. Though the Riders hailed from different regions and cultures, the dragons had drawn them all together.

"We've arrived," Tímern announced as they halted in front of an inauspicious doorway. It was decorated no differently than the rest of the palace, a fact that surprised Arya greatly given Eragon's status. After thanking the elf, Arya knocked hesitantly, wary of her unannounced visit.

"Enter," Came the muffled reply. Turning the knob on the door, Arya gathered her wits and strode into Eragon's personal office. Inside, she noticed a multitude of fairths decorating the walls. They were of old acquaintances Eragon had made during the war. There was one of Nasuada and Murtagh, of Roran and Orik. The largest one of all was a fairth of herself, hanging above an empty fireplace. It was similar to the one Arya kept in her room, created by Eragon before he left. Finally, she saw Eragon writing furiously on a wooden desk. Focused on his task at hand, Eragon never lifted his head as she stood there in front of him. "Eragon," She said softly.

Abruptly, Eragon dropped his quill and raised his head. "Arya…" He breathed. Nostalgia-riddled tension hovered between them before Eragon composed himself and said, "My apologies, Queen Arya, I wasn't expecting you."

"There is no need for the formalities, Eragon. We may not have conversed as much as we would have liked, but our friendship has endured the years, has it not?" Though Arya had not seen Eragon in years, he looked the same as the day he set sail aboard the Talíta. A rush of memories overwhelmed her, stirring the feelings she had set aside.

"Of course," Eragon agreed, "I was merely caught off-guard. Now, is there something I can help you with, Arya?" He asked. There was a subtle hint of curiosity hidden in his voice. There were many possible reasons as to why Arya, Queen of the Elves would come to Du Valdrvarden.

"Well," She started slowly, "Do you remember the injury I sustained in Helgrind several years ago?" Eragon nodded in grim remembrance. "For an unknown reason, the numbness that was once limited to a small patch of skin has spread to the rest of my hand."

Eragon's eyes opened wide in surprise. "What?" He exclaimed, "That's not possible. The injury was merely a few frayed nerves, it's not a disease."

"The elves do not understand why this is happening. Only that my condition is becoming progressively worse," Arya paused, holding back the fear that engulfed her. "It's only a matter of time before I lose function of my hand, possibly my whole arm."

Arya watched as his hand clenched on the desk between them. "How do you think I can help you?" Eragon asked in a strained voice.

Placing a cool hand atop of his in an effort to calm him, Arya said, "Perhaps the Eldunarí have knowledge that has been lost to our time. If anybody would know how to heal this wound, it would be them."

"I will attempt to find a solution with them. It may take some time though," He warned. That was all Arya could ask of Eragon, for there was no guarantee the Eldunarí would even be able to aid her. "In the meantime," He continued, "I will have a room arranged for you. All of our facilities will be available for your use."

"Thank you, Eragon," She said sincerely. Excusing herself from Eragon's office, Arya headed back to the garden, desperate for fresh air. All she could do now was hope Eragon found a cure before it was too late.

* * *

><p>Walking up the now familiar pathways of Du Valdrvarden, Arya angled towards the training grounds. Though she rarely took up arms, she enjoyed spectating the fledgling Riders train. It was calming to watch the future guardians grow into their own. "Hello, Queen Arya," A voice came from behind her. It seemed as if everybody on this island knew who she was, even those not of elven descent.<p>

Turning around, Arya found herself looking at a slender woman with long, brown hair. "Ah hello, Keverna," She replied. Keverna was a human Dragon Rider whom Arya had met while visiting Aberon on a diplomatic mission. She had been of noble heritage before her dragon, Ophelia, had hatched. "How is your training coming along?"

"Well enough," Keverna sighed. "My master is unrelenting. He accepts nothing less than perfection."

"As he should," Arya replied, "The more rigorous your training, the stronger you will become." There was something to be said about frustratingly difficult mentors. Had Eragon been coddled by Oromis and Glaedr, the war may have very well been lost.

The young Rider nodded, "As you say." Every Rider on the island seemed to pay deference to Arya. Whether they did from respect of her station or relations to Eragon, she was uncertain.

"Who is your master, Keverna?" Arya asked curiously. Out of all her explorations in Du Valdrvarden in the three weeks since she had arrived, not once did Arya find a Rider who qualified as a teacher.

"Umaroth," The Rider answered. "Sometimes, he is difficult to understand, for his ways of thinking are beyond mine."

"Umaroth? Why does a Rider not teach you?" Arya questioned. Umaroth was one of the ancient Eldunarí and they often thought on a far different level, for they spent centuries honing their mental craft.

"There are no fully-fledged Riders yet," Keverna answered swiftly. "Master Eragon asserts that it used to require several years of training to become a Rider of old. There are a few initiates who are close to achieving that status, but they are still a year or two away."

"I see," Arya said. It was a tricky situation indeed, for there were many Riders to train, yet Eragon and Murtagh were the only trained Riders alive. And the latter had not been seen since he departed to the North several years back. "So each Eldunarí has a pupil to train?"

"Aye, but as of now, the amount of Eldunarí far outnumber the amount of initiates," Keverna said. "Of course, Master Eragon has a pupil as well. I've heard that he's even more rigorous than the Eldunarí."

Arya nodded seriously, "That's to be expected. He was trained at an unnatural pace. Eragon is likely pushing his student as hard as Oromis pushed him."

"I suppose," Keverna replied wistfully, "I just wish that my training were complete. Then I'll be a part of the force that really purges Galbatorix's taint from Alagaësia."

"And you'll do much more than that," Arya agreed. "If all goes well, the Riders will help unify the land. You will help eradicate the blinding hatred that has escalated between the races."

"And what of you, Queen Arya? You're a Rider too, aren't you?" Keverna asked, her eyebrows slanting upwards.

Often this question was directed towards her, but never by a fellow Dragon Rider. Its accusation left Arya unsettled. "I have my own duties to my people. It's not possible for me to be in two places at once."

"I mean no offense, but you can make a larger impact as a Rider than a queen," Keverna rebuked. "A queen helps only her own people, Dragon Riders work for the betterment of all." Her words struck a chord deep inside Arya. It reawakened the urge to forfeit everything she knew and loved for a new life. "You said it yourself, we can dispel the animosity between the nations. Something that no single individual is capable of."

The conversation had unnerved Arya, its implications far-reaching. "It is getting late and I should return to my quarters; it was a pleasure speaking with you, Keverna," She said hastily, excusing herself from the room. Without waiting for a response, Arya turned on her heels and escaped through a nearby door.

The degree to which the gentle accusations stung surprised her. Normally, when others questioned her choice, Arya was able to brush it away effortlessly. But a Rider had raised the accusation this time, one who was a part of the very conflict.

_Did you listen to that conversation? _Arya asked Fírnen.

_I did, _Fírnen said. There was an indiscernible edge in his voice, though she could not fathom why.

_Do you think Keverna is right? Could I be doing more serving as a Rider? _Her own doubts seemed to creep their way into her thoughts, plaguing her very existence.

_I think, _He answered, _That you're just asking me to verify your own thoughts. You already know the answer, Arya._

_Perhaps, _She admitted. _But is it the right thing to do? I need your opinion on this. _Every decision Arya made affected Fírnen, but this one especially so. She could not, in good conscience, decide this outcome without first consulting the partner-of-her-mind.

_You will be helping people regardless of what you choose to do. But will you be happier doing it as a queen or as a Rider? _

_I don't know, _Arya confessed, _I can see myself in both of those roles._

_Then perhaps what you need is more time, _Fírnen advised. _You will have plenty more time to think while you are on this island. Whatever you choose to do, I will stand by your side. Have no fear of that, Arya._

* * *

><p>Arya was in the midst of reading when sharp, excited knocks rapped on her door. Sighing, Arya closed her book gently before answering the intruder. "Eragon? What brings you here at this hour?" Arya asked as her friend stumbled into her quarters. It was the middle of the day and the Master Rider was normally in his office fending off various reports.<p>

"We did it, Arya," Eragon gasped. He must have run all the way to her room to deliver the news, for he was short on air. "The Eldunarí, Saphira and I managed to create a spell to cure your hand."

"You're certain?" Arya exclaimed. It had been three months since Eragon first embarked on the daunting task. The last she had inquired, he had been no closer to the remedy than when he first started.

"As sure as we'll ever be," Eragon confirmed. "We won't know for certain until we try it out. We can do it now if you'd prefer. It won't take but a minute."

"Yes, that would be excellent," She replied. The mere thought of returning to full health excited every nerve in her body.

"Let's get started," Eragon murmured, grabbing her right hand. Muttering under his breath, Eragon began to invoke the healing spell. An alien feeling swept through her body, unlike any healing spell she had encountered previously. Deep lines of concentration were etched on Eragon's forehead as he twisted the magic to his whims, willing them to serve his purpose.

Fire burned through her severed nerves, causing her to gasp in pain. The heat scorched her hand, a stark contrast to the cold numbness she had grown accustomed to. She could feel severed nerves bridge the gaps, torn ends rejoining reluctantly; a most painful sensation. The procedure was over within fifteen minutes; but to Arya, it felt like several hours had elapsed. She rubbed her hands together, surprised that she could feel the chafing where her injury had previously been.

Across from her, Eragon looked exhausted, yet ecstatic at the same time. "Did it work?" He asked, his curiosity thinly veiled.

She nodded, "Thank you, Eragon." He had managed to accomplish what the most talented healers of the century failed to do, an extraordinary feat. Arya's gratefulness was as sincere as it had ever been.

"There was a lingering poison in your body, one which slowly spread throughout your body," Eragon explained, "Had you waited a few more years, your entire arm would have been lost."

"But how did nobody notice the poison?" Arya asked, mortified. The thought of having a poison nestled in her body chilled her to the bone.

"It was hidden, nearly invisible. Impossible to detect unless you knew what to look for," Eragon said gently. "Nobody could have known."

"Then how did you find it?" Arya questioned.

"Deep in the recesses of Umaroth's memories, the symptoms of your peculiar injury was touched upon," He said. "Long ago, the monks of Helgrind used to brew a poison that would replicate the effects that you experienced. But the knowledge to create such a poison has been lost, the drops in your blood were likely the last in all of Alagaësia."

The pair fell quiet after that, the realization that Arya had no reason to stay on Du Valdrvarden quickly dawning upon them. Now that her hand had been healed, the Knotted Throne awaited Arya in Ellesméra. "When will you return to Alagaësia?" Eragon asked somberly.

"Soon I should think. I…" Arya trailed off, thoughts and worries swarming her mind. The time spent on Du Valdrvarden had been unequivocally peaceful and comforting. Living on the island had offered Arya a different perspective of life compared to Ellesméra. One that she seriously considered taking. But now that the choice was thrust upon her, she wavered between two futures. _Can I do it? _Arya asked Fírnen.

_You must do whatever you feel is right," _Fírnen answered. She had often consulted Fírnen for his opinion on the matter, and each time he responded with the same answer.

"I…I think that I shall renounce my title and remain here…as a Dragon Rider," Arya said slowly. She gripped the wooden arm of her chair tightly, seeking the support it offered. Her the muscles in her hand clenched as she thought of all that she would be giving up.

"What?" Eragon exclaimed. "But your duty, surely you can't surrender that?"

"In the short time that I've been here, I have come to the realization that I can do just as much good as a Rider. I would be a part of the changes that you are bringing to Alagaësia," She replied. It was not an easy decision for sure, one which she would question for the next several years at the very least. "Of late, my whole-hearted commitment to the elves has been wavering. They deserve a ruler who has no doubts, someone who can give everything without a second thought. I am no longer that person," Arya concluded, her resolution strengthening with each passing minute.

"I see…You will be welcome to our order, Arya," Eragon said in a low, hushed voice.

She hesitated before voicing the other thought that plagued her mind. "Eragon," She lifted to meet his, "Do you…still feel the same as you did three years ago?" It was an unresolved topic, one which they had neglected to answer throughout their brief correspondence.

"My feelings remain unchanged, Arya," Eragon said firmly. There was no doubt in his voice, none whatsoever.

Arya sighed in relief. "Then you know how much you mean to me," She said. Eragon nodded mutely. "If you are willing…I would like to see where this takes us," Her voice shook with years of suppressed emotions. "Slowly though, for you are too precious to lose due to a mistake." It was a moment of déjà vu, these words having been said three years ago, before fate had separated them.

Eragon's eyes lit up momentarily before he carefully reigned in his emotions. "I…would like that, Arya." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Then, would you like to accompany me to the dining hall tonight?" The Rider stood up, offering his arm to Arya.

"I would," She replied with a smile, grasping the proffered limb. Between them, Arya could feel the vibrant hope of the future. Whatever fate lay ahead, they were the masters of their own destinies.

* * *

><p><em>To the honored Elven nation,<em>

_It is with the greatest regret that I inform you of my decision to relinquish my title as queen. You may not understand my reasons for doing so now, or even in several years; but I truly hope that one day, you will comprehend my reasons. When I first accepted the crown, I ignored the other responsibilities pressing upon me in favor of leading the elves out of these dark ages. I wished to pour my heart and soul into the elves in order to usher in a new age of prosperity and freedom. Three years from that day, I have played my part in the rebuilding of Alagaësia and hope that my efforts will lead to the golden age we once enjoyed. But it is impossible for me to continue serving you as the queen. As the time has passed; other, more qualified leaders, have emerged from the shadows, ones who may better lead the elves._

_As a Dragon Rider, it has always been my duty to provide order from afar, not with the political bias associated with the Knotted Throne. Three years ago, accepting the crown was the most logical choice to serve Alagaësia as a whole. But now that others have emerged, it is my time to embrace the role that has been thrust upon me, for better or for worse. Becoming a true Dragon Rider was an inevitable outcome, one which is just as important as serving the Knotted Throne. And so it is with unending grief that I will release the honor you have bestowed upon me to pursue my true role in life. I am certain that no matter the monarch, you will continue to prosper as you so richly deserve. No matter what happens, you will be in capable hands and you will continue to make me proud to be an elf. _

_Atra du evarínya ono varda,_

_Arya Shadeslayer_

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span>

So sorry for the long delay. I had meant to get this chapter up almost a month ago, but I got real lazy. But I'm just going to blame college because it makes me feel better ;).

Anyways I hope you enjoyed the story. You can't really examine the chapters individually as they are basically one large chapter split-up into three neat sections. There are overall themes running through the chapters that make no sense whatsoever if looked at in individual chapters.

Reviews are always welcome.


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